Tuesday night I continued with my excellent tradition of throwing dinner together at the last minute. We had breakfast. Monkey has refused to eat pancakes for all of his almost nine years. I never pushed the issue because, pancakes are, well, pancakes. By no stretch of the word can they be deemed healthy.
But I just wanted to fulfill my responsibility to get something down his throat and into his tiny belly. A jar of sprinkles sat on my counter next to the stove, and I got an idea. Cut to the dinner table—a pile of pancakes with cooked-in sprinkles awaited my undernourished family. Monkey broke down in the face of my novelty flapjacks. He took one bite and proclaimed, “I love pancakes. I want to have pancakes for breakfast everyday! And syrup! I can’t believe I’ve missed out on syrup!”
Please nobody tell Jamie Oliver what I’ve done.
On Wednesday, Monkey woke up with a sore throat. I told him it was allergies and made him go to school. He came home with a 101 temperature. I never can call these things. He’s faked me out so many times I wish there was a lie detector app for my Blackberry.
Wednesday afternoon I managed to lock myself out on the back deck without shoes. I was trying to bring a really heavy pot inside and not drop it on the dog who thinks she’s my appendage. Anyway, while I went out the back door, Chunky went out the front door. The air pressure slammed the back door shut. To make matters worse, Chunky then started ringing the doorbell. My boys think they should never have to open a door for themselves and will do all manner of annoying things to get others to do it for them. So I’m pounding on the back door and Chunky is marathon-ringing the front doorbell. Monkey, sick and lying on the couch, hollers, “Can you get that, Mom?”
On Thursday, Monkey stayed home, but I couldn’t miss an opportunity to screw up, so I sent Chunky to school in a sweatshirt. It snowed.
Today I wrapped up my Mom of the Year weekend by buying something I swore I would never buy. Cheeseballs. I have many food weaknesses, but Cheetos, cheeseballs, and most puffy, orange foods are not among them. I think they’re junk so I just don’t buy them. But Monkey has been sick and watching Alvin and the Chipmunks, The Squeakquel A LOT. Cheeseballs are the chipmunks' food of choice, and Monkey kept asking for them. I caved and bought him some.
Turns out Willie the Healer likes cheeseballs too. I accused Monkey of getting a third helping, then turned around to see Willie, paws on the counter, munching neon orange snack food.
I’ll end with this. I’ve succeeded in really freaking my boys out. They are constantly telling me I need to trim my fingernails. I occasionally consider fingernail hygiene but never manage to follow through. I’ve grown a truly scary pinkie nail, and my boys look at it the way one might look at a rat with two tails.
There you have it folks. My week’s been stellar. Happy Friday everybody.
3 comments:
Well, now that you've shown us yours, does that mean we have to show you ours, Evangeline?
A bunch of moms comparing the reasons we won't be nominated as Mom of the Year?
And if you really want to freak your boys us, slap some OPI Red nail polish on that pinkie nail!
;o)
She promises us pictures of herself dressed as a pirate and all we get is a pinkie nail that is about to fold under for a hook.
Ewwww! LOL I did that with my pinkie nail in high school 'cause I wanted to see how long it would grow, but then I cut it when my mom told me coke users do that for sniffing. LOL
Don't worry, there's no such thing as mom of the year. I think someone made it up... *grin*
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