|Here’s a random photo of my kids that makes me laugh when I’m feeling irritable.|
(This morning…first cup of coffee in hand)
JAMES: “Honey, I’ve been thinking. I want to take you to…..”
(Sentence interrupted by a rhinoceros-sized yawn lasting 28 seconds)
ME THINKING: (excited with anticipation) “he wants to take me somewhere!!! Yay, he’s finally realizing how badly we need a date night! Maybe even a weekend away to a cute bed and breakfast up in the mountains. Or maybe he’s gonna say furniture shopping. He was paying attention to all my hints about a new living room set. Geez, will you just finish your yawn already? I can’t stand the suspense!”
JAMES: (ending rhino yawn) “so I was thinking…”
ME: “yes? yes? Where are you going to whisk me off to? Is a horse-drawn carriage involved?”
JAMES: “Wells Fargo. They need your signature on file. We can take my truck.”
He clearly doesn’t know how badly I need to get away. I’m not whining. Well, maybe I am. But it’s 12:02 p.m. and over the past four hours I’ve cleared a toilet clog, cleaned dog feces off a rug, run to Walmart for a box of “make your carpet smell like a dog didn’t crap on it” powder, vacuumed the house, made two meals, blah, blah blah. This is pretty much everyday.
And now I’m sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Krone dds, watching a cartoon featuring Brusher Bailey, a super hero fighting bacteria bad guys on the rough, mountainous terrain of a kid’s mouth.
My son Andrew is getting a filling to replace the one that he recently lost. If that kid doesn’t start keeping up with his stuff, I’m gonna scream.
I guess that’s all for now. Andrew is done and ready to go home, where my Prince Charming is waiting to for our rendezvous at Wells Fargo. Maybe I should put on a cocktail dress.
*Disclaimer: in spite of not picking up on numerous “hints,” my husband is a great guy who often does special things for me.