A day in the life.
[insert pic of TV and offending golf club here]
I can't even bring myself to take the pic.
Ok, I did.
When leaving your children in the other room to have a chill morning while you get distracted with sock-drawer-drama-turned-closet-vomit-purge-fest, silence is usually more scary than banging. Especially if you have a boy. Doubly especially if you have a boy who inspired you at an early age to dress him up as Bam-Bam.
|My Pebbles & Bam Bam|
<--Did you think I was kidding?
Yes, I made the costume.
Yes, it fell apart after the second event.
Banging: not scary.
Silence: very scary.
Came in the room to check on them during silence. Did not come in the room to check on them during banging, until my son yelled to me:
"MOMMY! I BROKE THE TV"
[insert gutteral scream typically reserved only for Horror Films and encountering a bear in the wild]
He's so sorry. Hubby is going to FLIP. Adrenalin up, then drained. This is, actually, the second time they have broken a TV, but the first time their faces broke its fall [and caused my first coronary], so we're not going to count that one [was a Jersey Shore rental, they were tiny, another story for another day.] This one seemed intentional. He was swinging the golf club at it, like a baseball bat. I know this, because even after he broke the screen, and told me about it, he was still primed with golf
|For instance, these legwarmers.|
-oh- And I was *so* excited about my little blog post I was going to write about all the things in my closet that were so horribly inappropriate for me to wear and I had only purchased them in the last 12 months. It was going to be the cutest little "non-giveaway-giveaway" as I was going to mail each item to the first person who asked via comment.
FRIED, I head to bring little girl to dance class. Little boy and I stop by Daddy's office for a talking-to, and then, reunited with both twyns, I head to Trader Joe's.
I proceed to lose. little boy. while discussing purchase of case of water to cashier. Bells are ringing, I am delivered the box of my choosing, turn around: "where is he?" I say to little girl.
"oh. let me find him."Yeah, that makes sense. Send a three-year-old to find another three-year-old.
But clearly, he must just be lingering by the mints on the other side of that register...
No. Not there either. And not at the next line. Ummm??
Apparently he followed the woman who was in front of me in line, out of the store, and when she didn't take his hand to cross the parking lot, he waited at the curb [like a good little boy.] She immediately realized what happened and came and got me while another lady [count now up to 3 people, including the cashier with whom I left little girl while I ran outside in moving-picture-stop-motion, I'm ashamed to look in the face], stopped little boy from crossing the parking lot.
"Mommy I was looking for you everywhere."Yes, apparently that did not include above-eye-level for him, because the woman he followed out, also had a fantastically voluptuous derriere like myself.
COMPLETELY FRIED AND BURNT TO A CRISP now, with no ounce of dignity left, we drive home. No TV. No candy. No more golf clubs. I'm scared to make a move. I want us to decorate for Halloween; to make ghosts to hang outside like last year.
But I'm not moving.
Oh...but then we did...
our Ghost - Halloween - Project!
Hung it outside... not bad for an hour's work...[goes fast without TV]
Nothing calamitous occurred while we did this:
Pick a few flowers on the way back inside...
My nerves are shot. Throw the girl out of the situation [God bless her, she wants to help clean up the broken glass] and break down crying while I vacuum.
Oh, and then the little boy declares he peed his pants. At some point. In the last hour, or so. And chooses this moment to roll around the glassy floor to wiggle out of pants and wet shoes.
Being at home all day must be fun.Onto job search engines.
Since I'm clearly not fit to raise the children.
Daddy came home.
Cue nervous breakdown.
He takes over bedtime.