Well my day started off with optimism. I was going to have 5 full hours of me time. The Mortgage Man looked to be in for a good day too, as he appeared from the bedroom in golfing attire. It is springtime in north Texas after all. You know how horses act when the weather changes, well my children must have horse blood.
The Mortgage Man offered to drop off our eldest for school, which meant I had more time to get the youngest ready for her day out. So far, so good it seemed. Laundry started, workout clothes donned, lunches packed and away we go.
I had a superior workout even with the knowledge my abs class had been canceled indefinitely. That's not what my abs needed to hear, so I did an extra 20 minutes on the eucalyptus machine (that's what mortgage guys from Oklahoma call it) and that was after sweating every drop of Revlon from my face. Yes, I put on makeup for the gym. Why? Because a friend of mine ran into W on the jogging trail one day and got to show all of us proof in a photo with him on her phone. No way am I go to risk a photo op because I didn't put on my face, even if it does eventually get dripped off. My first "sticky situation" of the day: sweat.
I decided to treat myself to some Chipolte for dinner if you're from the south and lunch if you've been indoctrinated by a school system to call the noon meal something other than dinner. Afterall, brownie mix for a meal does not qualify as not-processed and I'd also hate to think the past 2 hours of perspiration was all for not.
I did get to leisurely enjoy my bowl of heaven while reading a newly downloaded book on my phone. I dashed to my favorite little craft store for some ribbon to hang bows from. 45 minutes perusing the aisles and gathering items for a birthday party coming up. Not a bad day, so far I must say.
Time to pick up the youngest which means getting a very special hug followed by the request for a cold cookie. No doubt this child has my genes, begging for raw desserts!
I typically walk in, find her basket in the hall and brainstorm the best way to transport wet glue and paint home in a small backpack without tainting the value of the art. Today, as I gather surprisingly non-messy items I am quickly greeted by Mrs. E and "the note". My first time to receive "the note". It appears my youngest spent the day sparring with her favorite school friend. You know, the same one she begs to wear her hair like on school days. It finally culminated on the playground with mutual pinching. Did you know that 3 year olds are not too small for an intimidation trip to "the office". The wooden paddle days are gone, sniff, sniff but a stern talking to seemed to do the job today. I am wondering about the sterness of the event as my child didn't miss the fact that cupcakes were in the office at the time of "the talk". Just in case you're wondering they were later seen pushing each other in the swings and getting along peachy fine. Sticky situation number 2 for the day: the note.
We hurry home for a brief stop to unload the spoils of the craft store. Onward to retrieve my golden child that has never received "the note" nor has he stuck a key into his nasal cavity this week either.
Pickup done, children reloaded in vehicle and off we go again. This child is unusually chatty for the drive home. We're having a conversation that does not involve the words "can I have a playdate today". Nice!
P.E. day it seems and lots of fun games, not even to be spoiled by being paired with a girl. Segue into sports and the "fact" that boys play more sports than girls according to one confident 7 year old. I'm just egging the conversation on, because for once I'm not the rotten mom that makes children attend school, not plan playdates daily and lastly cause spring to come and with it allergies. Sigh. My shoulders do carry the weight of my offspring and their grievances with the world.
I am being informed that "girls don't play baseball or football, unless it's flag football. Boys do T-ball, baseball, soccer, basketball and oh yeah, girls do that mud fighting." Bubble in my brain is now popping and appears to say "no, he couldn't mean women mud wrestling". My children are in Sunday school almost every week unless ill and he does Bible study on another night and my word that child could quote the entire very long, long verse on his wall at 27 months of age! So I breath in and out and calmly inquire about this "mud fighting". Bless my heart I was not ready for this next explanation. He kept repeating the words "it's a sticky situation" as he described in detail "mud fighting". This is my over the top observant details are my game child. Bless my heart, I've tried so hard. I was still hopeful that he'd just seen some watered down cartoon bugsbunny version of mud wresting until he got to the wardrobe, or lack of wardrobe would actually be more precise. Then he just said "it's a sticky situation".
You should've seen his daddy's eyes when I had him retell it over baked chicken legs.
No comments:
Post a Comment