Hungry, desperate furloughed-government officials came knocking on the door this afternoon. The only thing that I had that would cheer them up was a Charleston Chew bar of my daughter. I sent them on their way with the chocolate and that, my dear daughter, is why your candy bar is missing. There is no other reason. No, don’t go looking in our trash can for an empty wrapper. It’s not in there. What kind of mother would steal her own child’s chocolate and then lie about it? Seriously, get away from the garbage can.
Of course, if I had eaten her candy bar, it would have been justifiable (not that I would do that!). On this miserable, foggy, rainy morning, as I was rushing to pack lunches, finish exercising, and clean up the mess that forms after every weekend, she stopped me to ask, “Mommy? What month did you and Daddy have sex in to get pregnant with me?” It wasn’t the question I minded so much as the math. Math before 7 a.m. is not my forte. “Uh… November? December? I don’t remember!” When I asked Adam, he just sort of gave us a panicked look and ran back to his computer.
Kids had their annual check-ups today. The 8 year old is officially taller than the 10 year old. Not that I told her (that’s not a lie! Just an omission) as she would never let him live it down. However, I think she figured it out. Eh, if he’s upset about it, I can give him some candy. The girl has another Charleston Chew lying around. At least for the moment she does.
Yesterday morning I took the girl to school, and then ran home to get the boy, as he had a consult with the (da da da duh!) orthodontist. I was harried, trying to get everything organized to get out the door, when I quickly grabbed my travel mug and went to fill it with coffee. Of which there was none.
“Damn it!” I yelled. “Daddy didn’t leave me any coffee.”
The boy shrugged. “You know, it’s not Mother’s Day anymore!”
So I can tell.
Mother’s Day was lovely. The boy wanted to make me breakfast in bed, and started to prepare it, when Adam pointed out that as nice of a thought as that way, I’d probably be happier being allowed to sleep late. But the second I awoke, the boy was there, ready to take my coffee order (because on Mother’s Day, the coffee pot is bottomless, apparently). I had a beautiful card from the girl plus a flower pot she decorated at school, wonderful coupons from the boy, and two bags of Gummi Bears from Adam.
A side story: We had the girl tested for allergies. She had a reaction to shrimp last November, and we decided before we embark on any summer travels, she should have an actual test. The verdict? The girl is highly allergic to shellfish. All shellfish. Epi-pen allergic. We have a drawer in the kitchen in which we store one of her Epi-pens (the other is in my purse), and I’ve told everyone, “This is the emergency drawer.”
Okay, back to Mother’s Day: After Adam gave me the Gummi bears, he said, “And, just so you know, there’s always the emergency drawer…”
Sometimes all is right with the world.
But, of course, sometimes it’s not as yesterday there was no coffee, the orthodontist read the boy the riot act about his finger sucking, and my monthly movie night was canceled, because both Beatle and (what shall I name her? She wants something glamorous, but maybe I’ll do something like Polynomial, just to be irritating. Nah…), let’s say, Lilith, both decided they had better things to do than drink wine, eat chocolate, and watch ’80s flicks. (And by better I mean a last-minute work meeting for one and an inability to get a babysitter for the other–clearly these are women who do not have their priorities straight!). Which wouldn’t have been a problem except that I did recently post about how I was going to be so much better about what I eat, and because of those two, I was forced to be alone in my house with copious amounts of chocolate that weren’t just going to eat themselves!
Sigh.
At least if things get too bad, I have my emergency stash. That should last me a day. (Not two.)
