“Mommy,” Red wailed. “Eldest
called me a kitty cat.”
“Oh no,” I replied, hiding a
smile. “Did that hurt your feelings?”
“Yeah,” Red sniffed into my
shoulder.
“You’re a kitty cat!” Eldest
taunted. Red erupted in a fresh set of wails.
“Eldest,” Husband said in his
sternest voice. “It appears that being called a ‘kitty cat’ greatly distresses
your brother. So, stop it.”
“Okay Daddy.”
“Who wants pancakes?!” I asked.
Husband trailed me into the kitchen to wait for food. He and the dog get into
some knock-down drag-outs whenever I drop anything. FYI, the dog usually loses.
Moments later we heard Eldest
taunting his brother. Husband marched in the living room. “I told you to talk
nice to your brother.”
Eldest went pale. He stammered,
“I—I didn’t think you c—could hear me.”
“Eldest,” Husband said, “I hear everything.” Eldest gulped.
Husband returned to the kitchen and I asked,
“Were you imagining yourself taking off a pair of sunglasses David Caruso-style
while you were saying that?”
“Oh yeah,” Husband replied and
puffed out his chest.
“Alrighty, everyone, pancakes!”
I dished out a serving to everyone in our
family and we all tucked in. Baby Girl decided that she would rather be held,
so I freed her from her highchair and sat her on my lap. Despite having eaten
all of her own breakfast, plus a snack bottle, she was plowing through my
pancakes. Most of the time, I would do anything for my children. But sometimes
Momma is hungry. Plus, Momma makes a darn good pancake.
“Sweetheart? Can you hold onto my
pancakes?”
“Toss ‘em over,” Husband said. I
pushed my plate towards Husband for safekeeping. I would wait until the rest of
my family had finished and then eat my breakfast in peace.
“Hey! I asked you to HOLD my
pancakes, not eat them!”
“I’m holding them in my belly.
They will be safe there.”
“Knock. It. Off. I want my
cakes!”
“Sorry.”
“You are STILL eating them!”
“Mmm…they’re good…nom nom nom…”
“Okay, kiddos,” I began. “Does
everyone remember the rules for grocery shopping?”
“Yes!” they chorused.
“What are the rules for grocery
shopping?”
“I dunno!”
“Can’t remember!”
*Sigh* “The rules for grocery
shopping are: 1) Stay where you can see Mommy or Daddy; B) Respect your cart
buddy by keeping all parts of yourself to yourself; and 3) Use your indoor voice.
Got it? Good. Let’s go in”
“If I’m good can I have a treat?”
Eldest asked.
“Me too?” Red chimed in.
“Yes. If you follow the rules of
grocery shopping, and do not drive Mommy crazy, you can pick out a treat when I
am finished shopping.”
“What is ‘drive Mommy crazy?”
Eldest asked.
“Well, asking questions that you
know the answers too…” I replied.
“Oh,” Eldest said. “Can I still
get a treat?”
“If you are good, yes.”
“Can I get a treat too?” Red
asked.
“If you follow the rules and let
me shop, you can both get treats.”
“A TOY treat?” Red wanted
clarified.
“Yes.”
“How many things do you need to
buy?” Eldest wanted to know.
“A lot.”
A lot?” Eldest whined. “How many
is ‘a lot’?”
“One, two, three,four…fifteen,” I
counted.
“Oh man,” both boys whined.
“How many things do we need now?”
Eldest asked.
I replied, “Sixteen.”
“What?! You said fifteen!” Eldest
was appalled.
“I forgot to write down eggs.
Sorry. There is the powdered sugar. Now we are back down to fifteen.”
“Cookies!” Red exclaimed. “Can I
have the blue ones?”
“This blue package?” I asked,
holding up a box of cookies. Red nodded. “Sure.”
“But this is not my treat,
right?”
“Nope. You can get a toy IF you
are good.”
“Now many things do we need?”
Eldest asked.
“Still fifteen,” I answered.
Eldest groaned.
“Think of it this way,” Husband offered. “We
have one section to do and then you get your treat. Once Mommy is done in the
grocery section we can pick out your treat while she finishes up. How does that
sound?”
“How many things do we need now?”
Eldest asked.
“Fourteen.”
Husband noticed the vein in my
neck bulging and suggested, “Let’s play a game…”
Groceries purchased? Check. Five
family members accounted for? Check. Time for the dash through the rain-soaked
parking lot! And, “Go!”
“You should have worn a hood,”
Husband taunted from beneath his raincoat. He was securing the children in
their seats while I was getting soaked loading up the groceries.
“Fine, be like that, Mr. Hoody
Pants. You can put the cart back,” I said as I sprinted to the passenger side
and climbed in. “You had better hurry,” I said as I hit the automatic close
button for the hatch. The warning beep began. “Or the cart isgoingtogetstuckinthedoor!”
Husband yelped and ninja-rolled
out of the minivan. He reached the shopping cart in one stride (dude has
looooooong legs) and pulled it out of the way just in time. Then he took off at
a sprint to the cart corral. Ducking behind parked cars he made his way back to
the driver’s side door and leaped in the car.
“You,” I said to my husband, “are
a goof ball.”
Back at home, groceries put away
and lunch eaten, it was time to carve pumpkins. Eldest happily drew a face on
his pumpkin and waited patiently for his daddy to carve his masterpiece. Red,
on the other hand, could not communicate his artistic vision to his father.
“No! An angry face. Like this!”
Red insisted, screwing up his face to show Husband exactly what he wanted drawn
on his pumpkin.
“Okaaaaaay,” Husband said, making
some changes to his sketch.
“That’s not angry! Like THIS!”
“He looks pretty angry, Daddy,” I
informed Husband.
“I see that, Mommy.”
“NOOOOOOO! Like THIS!”
“Hey, Red? Do you want to look on
the internet for the kind of face you want?” I asked.
“Yes!” He squealed and climbed
into my lap. “Oh yeah, like that one. Daddy! Like this,” He said and pointed
emphatically at the computer screen.
“But that is exactly what I—okay,
Red. I will draw that face,” Husband said, muttering to himself. He made a few
minor changes to his sketch. “How is that?” he asked Red.
“Oh yeah, that is perfect for
me,” Red said.
Husband shook his head at our
offspring.
“Is it bedtime yet?” I asked.
Not even close.
