We live in the country. This means boys, at a young age, get some sort of ride atop motorized vehicle with which they rip up their mother's flowers gardens and make their dad's proud.
Baby Boy got a tractor last summer, which I imagined would last him until he got a driver's license. Well, the damn thing lost its Reverse gear and the now bare tires unapologetically spin on the pavement unable to get traction.
My favorite noise, followed by, "MAMA, I'M 'TUCK!!!"
The older boy across the street has a much beefier ATV. It is quite the envy of the neighborhood, and since my son is the only other boy on the street, you do the math.
The ATV appeared at the end of their driveway yesterday with an optimistic "For Sale $350.00" sign on it.
About every ten minutes the price either drops or it inches closer to the top of our driveway.
It is one of the few times I am glad Baby Boy can't read.
Last night, Darling Husband's work hosted a booth at a community festival. There was a photo booth with costumes, frisbees and glow-in-the-dark jewelry. We were ready to rock.
I put on a super cute outfit: a safari-inspired shirt with short-shorts which to wear I have suffered through massive bouts of up-and-down the driveway lunge sessions. My bucket list for the summer was to wear those. The fact that I could check that off the list before Labor Day made the whole summer worthwhile.
When I got there, DH threw a huge, bright blue tee-shirt at me.
"Put that on," he instructed.
His logo blared from about 10-yards of fabric.
That is about as bad as asking me to slap a name tag on a cashmere sweater.
"I am not wearing that." I tossed it back to him.
The look he gave me made it clear that, yes, in fact, I was.
So, this damn thing (a Men's Medium) not only made me look 60-pounds heavier but hung to my knees. Since my shorts ended about a foot earlier, you do the math.
My options were to tuck the excess 5-yards into the shorts giving me an oh-so-flattering pregnant-with-a-tire look OR to let it hang down thus inciting a fantasy that I was wearing nothing under the shirt.
I went with Option B. I would like to think the line of old men at out booth was a coincidence, but maybe it was just for the frisbees.
I am on my fourth "smart-phone." Ironically named since mine are not smart enough to turn on, charge, or save any contacts.
I dragged Baby Boy to Verizon yet again yesterday to trouble shoot my latest issues. I think customer service newbie Sami was really just killing time by reading all my texts since she would burst into sporadic laughter from behind the desk as she fiddled with my phone.
After 45-minutes, BB started to get antsy. Then Santa walked in.
He was minus the suit, certainly it was too hot, but other than that he was a spitting image.
"See, Santa is watching you, so you better be reallllllly good," I whispered as BB pulled off all the purple phone covers from the rack.
"I need these," he yelled.
"Go tell Santa," I said as Sami approached with a this-isn't-going-to-be-good-news expression.
After a few minutes I realized my son had indeed approached Santa and was chatting away.
"Well, what do you think your mom would like for Christmas?" Santa asked as I ran sprinted across the store.
"Um, I think she would like to pee standing up."
"You must get this all the time," I said mortified.
"Not quite like that," Santa screamed with laughter.
I hope he forgets by the time the elves get back to work.
I am running out of summery things to do with Baby Boy. So today I brought him back to the Audabon, the scene of The Great Donut Debacle, for an hour long nature camp. I pulled his hat over his eyes so no one would recognize him from the '"Do Not Admit" posters the animals had hung around the property.
I thought I would drop him with the group then enjoy some reading time in the sun.
No such luck.
"Come ALONG all you MOMS and...(a quick scan proved all the men had escaped), well, KIDS! Let's go find some BUGS!" The uber chipper volunteer lady handed out nets and magnifying glasses to the kids with a list of 19 bugs they had to find.
I imagined this would somehow involve me doing the bug-finding dirty work but the car was in the other direction.
I stood deep in the woods trying to help pointing to various shadows calling "Perhaps that is a grub?" But as I stood there slapping whatever landed on my bare arms (I definitely killed number 8 and 12 on the list), it was quite clear I was not in my element.
Baby Boy keeps asking for a Mater truck from the Cars 2 movie. We counted up his change (minus all the quarters I borrow for parking meters) and cashed it in for a crisp $20 bill, which he immediately shoved in his tiny shorts pocket.
Today was the big day to go buy Mater. But first, we made a stop at the Audabon for a nature walk. (Need to balance out the impending fluorescent hell of Walmart with some trees and gophers.) In the lobby, there was a giant cube with some loose change at the bottom.
"What's this do, mama?" BB asked as he smeared his mouth all over the outside of it.
"That is where people donate, sweetie," I said rather distracted by the gift shop. "They donate money to help the animals."
When I turned around, his $20 bill was deep in the cube atop the pennies and he was loudly asking the desk volunteer, who was obviously illiterate in 3-year old, where the donuts were.
It only took a second for me to A) see where the miscommunication took place ("That is where people DONUTS, honey...") and B) to realize a huge tantrum was about to occur.
I dragged him out as he was screaming for donuts and/or his money back. The surrounding animals we had spent the morning cooing at decided to take an early hibernation.
The 13-year old gal down the road watched Baby Boy while I went grocery shopping.
When I got back she informed me that UPS and FEX-EX had both come by.
My heart swelled. My eyes filled with tears of joy. All of my end-of-summer sale stuff had arrived!
"Good thing Darling Husband is coming home late tonight, so I will have time to hide the evidence," I said to Young Babysitter manically.
"Hide the evi...oh, is it his birthday?" her innocent eyes blinked at me.
Hadn't occurred to me she has yet to experience the fiasco of shared credit cards.
His birthday was in April, but she wasn't ready to hear how things are when you are married to someone who tells you to everyday to STOP BUYING CLOTHES. (EVEN when they are like 70% off...you think he would be happy I am saving him so much money.)
"Yes." I overpaid her and scooted her out so I could try on my goods.
The phone just rang. It was Young Babysitter's Dad asking DH if he had time for a birthday beer this weekend.
Baby Boy has discovered the hose. Sadly, our hose doesn't spew forth cool champagne, rubies or anything you would want shot at full blast in your general range--just the garden variety freezing, stinging, smelling slightly of burnt rubber water.
I was enjoying a few moments laying in the driveway under the sun when the prickles of cold spray jammed up my nose.
Stunned and blind, I heard Darling Husband yell, "Hey! That's not nice, buddy. Grab that towel and help me dry him off."
Oh, my hero! What a good hus....wait. Dry HIM off?
I sat up to see them tenderly drying the DOG as mascara and sunscreen dripped into my mouth.
Reality Moment #47. You know it's time to chop down the Family Totem Pole when the dog takes top billing in a water war.
(I bet no one chose drying the dog over the bikini gal in the banner pic. I hope they sprayed off her fake tan. Humph.)