I’d like to think that the truck full of young males headed to a landscaping job, sitting idle next to me at a stoplight, were cracking up at my dance moves because they were wowed by them and impressed by this forty-something’s swagger.
But I’m pretty sure they thought I looked like Elaine from Seinfeld.
“Mom, this is why I ask you not to dance.” Thanks a lot, peanut gallery!
That’s what my five-year old wanted to get my hubby for Father’s Day. Sadly no such thing exists (that I’m aware of) BUT if one gift ever summed up her dear-dad’s personality that would be it!
He settled for a sentimental photo gift and a book about octopuses but who knows. Maybe by the time his birthday rolls around we can pull together a custom sea-chantey-swan-float.
Yo ho ho, I raise a glass of grog in honor of all ye dads out there! Happy Father’s Day, mateys!
- Wake up to child staring you in the face.
- Curse as you realize your spouse is fleeing to the spare bedroom.
- Cajole child into chasing down other parent.
- Hide under covers.
- Yell across house to “remind” spouse he has dodged early wake-up approximately 1,572 times this week.
- Cheer for joy as spouse gets up with child.
- Run to spare bedroom.
- Wake up to see child staring at you while holding a toilet bowl brush.
- Reassure your child that yes, they can clean the toilet this morning as promised last night. (WEIRDO CHILD.)
- Yell across house to tell spouse to help child clean toilet.
- Wait for it. . . spouse can’t find the toilet bowl cleaner. Yell the location of the cleaner.
- Discover a dog has joined you in the bed. Realize soon it will be a child.
- Get up and lock door.
- Wait for it. . .child wails upon discovering door is locked.
- Wait two additional minutes for child to return to tell you “Daddy is making you coffee!” A SNEAKY PLOY TO GET YOU UP.
- Lie in bed wide awake smelling coffee.
- Admit defeat.
Happy Saturday morning! At least I have a clean toilet AND coffee!
Did I miss any steps? Share your own. Solidarity sisters.
Sure am glad I didn’t dawdle getting to the airport and while running late accidentally park my rental car in the wrong return lane and be told I have to go inside to fix it, only to find out that no I need to go back outside to get a slip from the very chatty car dude who I can’t help but be kind to and explain that yes, it’s definitely still hot in Florida right now! I know crazy! To then return to said counter to wait for my receipt that they apparently decided to travel back to 1994 to print on a dot matrix printer. zeet. zeet. Zeet. zeeeeeep. (Repeat approx. 1,367 times.) To then sit on the SLOWEST SHUTTLE BUS EVER and arrive at the terminal and discover my flight leaves in, oh, half and hour, and run to check my bag (because somehow having tiny shampoo bottles in my luggage is still a threat to national security) to then get stuck in a long line of millennials staring at phones in what is perhaps the Longest. Security. Line. Ever. Especially for a second rate rust belt city (I can say this I’m from this region) to then *almost* make it through security except for my laptop that is arousing suspicion and must be checked by the guy with a mysterious magical wand-stick. To then shoe-up and run and I mean RUN to the farthest end of the terminal while overhearing the Southwest gate agent say “final call for passenger Sarah Dee-MA-Teee-no” as I’m still wildly running, dodging couples and children while The Weekend sings in the background I’m tryna put you in the worst mood, ah/P1 cleaner than your church shoes, ah which makes me feel like a badass in a movie scene (until I realize my laptop bag is hitting my butt every two seconds which is not sexy. Not at all.) To then arrive at the gate as the guy is about to shut the door, and cough out my name, wheezing and sweating and and laughing with the cool luggage attendant dude (unlike the check-in dude who is ALL business ok whatever lol) only to be the very last person on the plane (THE ONE TIME I have an A35 southwest spot in line!!!) to then sit in a middle seat but whatever that’s cool cuz I’m making it home!, and cough up half a lung for like twenty minutes and have no water and question the sufficiency of my current exercise regimen and fly to Atlanta and discover my next flight is delayed.
Yep, sure am glad that none of that happened.
Take heart. I bet you have it together more than you think.
For goodness sake, it’s not like you still have Christmas decor lying around in your shrubs in July!
In my defense you can’t really see it from the street. And I even unplugged it seven months ago! (Maybe six.)
I made the mistake a few weeks ago of making bunny-shaped pancakes at Easter and now my four-year-old thinks I’m capable of great pancake feats. Hence her request today for a “horse-shaped” pancake. She even wanted it to have “nooves” (she was struggling to remember the word hooves.)
Well, my lil’ cowgirl running around naked in her red cowboy boots was too hard to say no to. I cautioned that the hooves might be a level of detail not capable with the pancake medium. She shrugged and was like, ok but please still make a horse pancake?
You all, this might be stating the obvious but it’s hard to make pancakes look like horses.
Me to kid: here is your horse pancake! Just know that it kind of sort of looks like a horsey.
Kid: I see it!
Me (not believing her): yeah!?Where do you think the tail is?
Listen you guys, she found the “tail”!
I have officially won motherhood today.
UPDATE: I forgot to add that after she ate her pancake she brought over a plastic toy horse and said, “Mommy, this is what a horse looks like!” Like I didn’t know. Like my pancake didn’t look like a horse or something.