“Hey, look, Mom! I can take Ben down the slide!” “Yes, dear. Try to make sure he’s breathing when he reaches the bottom….”
It’s Wednesday. This week it feels like Tuesday because David was off on Monday for a random government holiday. It rained, and it was freezing. He took the big boys to storytime at the library, and I took out all the cold weather clothes for the big seasonal switcheroo.
I discovered that Seth only has one pair of non-sandal shoes that currently fit. I couldn’t find them this morning when it was time to go to the park for mom and tot art lunch. After scouring the entire house for them, I made him wear his dirty flip flops with a long sleeved shirt and jeans. I thought my head was going to explode.
Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, makes Mommy angrier than lost shoes. Evan loses his all the time. In fact, he lost his flip flops somewhere in the yard last week, and I still haven’t found them.
After Seth found his missing shoes in the back of the van (where he’d taken them off last night on the way back from the indoor playground), I told him that there would no longer be any warnings for shoes placed anywhere other than right by the front door. I find them somewhere other than that? Bam. Immediate nuclear punishment. I’m done with this, people. D-O-N-E.
Why, you may ask, doesn’t Ellen break down and get her poor little urchins more than one pair of shoes? Is it because she’s cheap? Yeesss… but its mostly because she hates shoe shopping for small boys. Especially for small boys with narrow feet and no arches whose shoes must fit custom orthotics to correct said lack of arches. The end.
When I pulled up to the house the other day after a quick weekend naptime shopping trip, the tree in front of the house caught my eye. It is the boys’ favorite climbing tree, and it has lots of nice little forks for them to get their feet stuck in so that they can then scream for someone to help them 542 times an hour. I digress. Well, one of the forks on that day was currently holding a soft yellow and green soccer ball and a large plastic t-rex.
I walked right past those bad boys and into the house. And they are sitting there still in perfect harmony, Rex’s mouth wide open in a vicious, toothy perpetual scream as he is crushed by the Soccer Ball of Doom.
Sort of like me right now as I hear Seth’s bedroom door open upstairs for the 3rd time in what was supposed to be my hour of solitude today…. Peace out.