Let's start today with a laugh, shall we?
I take that back because our story actually begins with a most unfortunate text. Said text was received during arsenic hour on Friday afternoon. Over-worked dear husband sends over-stressed dear wife (that would be me), the following message:
"I need to work tomorrow morning." Sadness, disappointment and pity for all the parties involved swells within my heart. Reading between the lines, I know that what he really meant to say is that he'll be working another full day on Saturday. It's never just the morning. This makes two Saturday's in a row. Cue a discouraged Charlie Brown:
Perhaps I'd have taken the news better had I been healthy. The strep that wiped me out was followed by an ugly cough and cold. My personal energy and cheerful nature had been zapped. It's okay. That's life. Sometimes it's hard. I accept this.
Saturday morning I was in a bind. Henry had a birthday party and it was up to me to get him to the bowling alley, possibly stay and then bring him home. With a sick baby who needed the blessing of uninterrupted sleep in his crib, I struggled about whether or not I should send him.
Henry, however, has sacrificed many a birthday party this year. He is unaware, but it's true. The guilt was enough to motivate me to ask the birthday boy's Mom to take him. After reading her reply, also sent via text, I could feel of her kindness as it seemed that she was very happy to accommodate him.
The catch was she'd be by to pick him up immediately as she was currently in our neighborhood on an errand. Henry was 50% ready. Getting him completely ready could be done in a flash. Henry's Mom, however, was 0% ready.
"She'll understand." I told myself. "After all it's only, ahem, 10:00 on a Saturday...and you're not feeling well and your husband is at work...and you have so many kids..." Those are legit excuses, yes? Ha ha, is right. I was a mess but I got over my embarrassment real quick because I was so happy that Henry was going to be bowling with his buddies!
"Your goal," I told myself, "is to look like a decent human being when he gets dropped off at 1:30." Well friends, that didn't happen. However, bathrooms were cleaned and so were the children's bedrooms. As far as I'm concerned, Mom's get a "look like crap" pass when they spend their day cleaning. I was feeling accomplished. I sure didn't look it, though. It was time for Plan B.
Or perhaps I should say, Plan E.
"Eliza?" I ask, "When Henry's ride drops him off would you please go to the door and bring in his car seat for me?" Without hesitating my trusty and dependable seven year old replies,
"Sure, Mom!" Soon there's a knock at the door. Off Eliza goes. Birthday boy's Dad is at the door with Henry. Seeing Eliza he says,
"Hi, is your Mom here?" Doing her duty she retrieves his car seat.
"Oh, hi. I'll take that." She says.
"Great, thanks. But is your Mom here? I need to talk to her." Listening from the other room, my stomach drops. Ugh. Eliza resigns.
"Yes she is." Calling back to me she says, "Mom?!? Door!" With my head turned down in shame, I come around the corner to find the well groomed parent smiling sheepishly at me. He motions to Henry's shoes.
"Hi! I'm so sorry but I just realized as he was getting out of the car that he didn't wear his boots home!" I look down and see a familiar pair of blue bowling shoes on Henry's feet. I burst out laughing.
He may be forgetful and distracted at times
but this boy is a hard worker!
He's smart and cute and loves his Mom.
As for Andrew, wanting to catch up on time with his family we splurged that night. Loading the kid's bikes in the car, we made the 30 second drive over to our church and let the kids run and ride around in the gym to their heart's content. How's that for being frugal and fun?
A few days later, Forrest took his maiden voyage in the shopping cart, sans car seat. He was so pleased with his big boy self!
And here we are loving on our boys. Kindly ignore my creepy eye stare. I share this photo mainly to display the delicious nature of Forrest's cheeks.
I'm just going to call it like I see it.
Andrew's arm pit hair kind wins the award for
scariest photo bomb ever.