Taking Sam to school this morning. Talking about his cross country running. His strategy is to start out slower and finish strong. We talked about how fun it is to pick people out and set a goal to pass them.
“Yeah, there is this one girl” he says, “who I just cannot stand it when she is running in front of me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just see her and think–wait, I am faster than you; you should be behind me!”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Just some 6th grade girl with D cups.”
I did. I parked in the spot for Mothers with Children…and I had no children.
But wait. I mean, it was like I had the kids with me, they just were not actually “with” me. Plus, I was there because of them anyway.
Jeff was out of town. We have had night after night of late nights due to Labor Day, sports and dinner guests which always makes for slightly challenging mornings.
I was determined to get everyone to bed early and enjoy popcorn by myself while watching my new obsession, “Extreme Parenting” on Bravo.
Finally got everyone settled down around 9:00, got the Stir Crazy popcorn maker out, reached for the salt, butter and finally the Orval Redenbachers…oh, shit. There was barely a third of a cup of popcorn in there. Those damn kids–AGAIN.
Fine. I put on a bra (you are welcome, Marsh customers at 9:00PM on 9/4/14) and changed out of my pajama pants (see people, pajama bottoms are not proper attire even for a late night run to the store. Stop. Wearing. Them. In. Public.) and drove like a bat out of hell to the store down the street.
And that’s when I screeched in to the spot (I mean, I really did screech; they just recently resurfaced the asphalt so my tires squealed loud enough to draw attention to my van). Hopped out, slammed the door and noticed two people in the parking lot looking at me, watching me, judging me.
Fine, I parked in the spot and have no kids with me. But dammit, that’s why I am here. The kids at all my popcorn. Kind of the same thing, right?
Me: Ranting and raving about how everyone needed to go to bed, listen when I ask them to do something, pick up after themselves, stop making new messes until the old messes are cleaned up…
Sam: Mom, tell the truth…are you just a little bit mad because you got your period?