Thursday, October 3, 2013

Dirty Crocs and Honey Nut Cheerios

I just let Thomas watch movies all morning and gave him Honey Nut Cheerios for lunch.  Me?  I've barely moved from the couch since I dragged my coughing, sniffling, snarfly self back from dropping off Micah at preschool and a bowl of cereal was about all I had the energy to prepare for my little cherub.  The best part?  He's eating it on the coffee table in the living room so lunch doesn't interfere with his viewing of Elmo flying a space ship and throwing pizza slices at a pseudo-Death Star manned by a chicken dressed like Darth Vader.

You see, all the energy I extracted from my 5-ish hours of sleep last night was zapped pretty much immediately in what I like to call the Battle of the Crocs.  Micah wanted to wear his Crocs to preschool today and I told him he couldn't because they were going on a field trip to the farm and he wasn't allowed to go stomping through the pumpkin patch in shoes with holes on them.  In true toddler fashion, he countered with, "But I really WANT to wear my Crocs."  Oh, ok buddy.  That changes everything!  I didn't realize that you really WANT to!!  Forgive me, son.

Plus, I had to remind Micah that his Crocs are still not suitable for wearing pretty much anywhere because if they were to come into contact with his feet, he would end up looking like he had transformed into a Hobbit, but without the excessive hair.  As evidenced by the photo below, when a little boy is given a small bucket and access to a garden hose, muddy crocs and disgusting jeans are an inevitable result.

I've been meaning to scrub his nasty Crocs clean for at least a week now, but it hasn't exactly been high on my priority list.  Instead, they sit on the front porch in all their muddy glory.

Sneakers and sweatshirt finally perched on my child's body, I realized I was looking pretty rough myself and it was time to go.  At least I had enough self-respect to put on a maxi skirt when I left the house.  Sure, I didn't get around to brushing my teeth (again) and my hair looked like Alvin and his nasally singing brothers had set up shop, but at least I had the sense to toss on the socially acceptable form of pajama pants before I shuffled out the door with my travel mug filled with lukewarm coffee that I was struggling to swallow without wincing.


Some mornings are just tougher than others, you know?  But I am a grown up, gosh darn it.  I am a strong, powerful woman of integrity and class.  So I did what anyone like me would do in this situation.

I texted my Mommy.

 
Oh don't even sit there reading this blog pretending like your first impulse when you feel poopy isn't to go running to the one who cleaned up your poop, puke and blood countless times.  Plus, I had to tell her that we were out of her fantastic homemade currant jam and I needed her to feel bad for me first so I could get extra jars.  It's really good jam, people. 

Aw, crap.  Cailou just came on.  I can't handle that whiny kid on my TV when I'm feeling my best, let alone in my depleted state.  Excuse me while I bust out the Curious George DVD.  No shame in my game.

P.S.  Eric did get a new liver and new kidneys.  He just had transplant surgery yesterday, thanks for asking.  How's he doing?  I haven't heard yet.

1 comment:

Talk to me, Goose.

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