Summer Slip Ups
Remember a time when summer vacation meant that you had a break? Way, WAY back when, when you actually got two months reprieve to recover from the rigors of learning cursive and multiplication? Yeah, me neither. I know it exists because we are smack dab in the middle of it. My teacher friends are cavorting and having fun, while I'm cursing them for failing to supervise my delinquents for at least a few hours a day, thus propelling my workload into astronomical amounts of arrests and court time and making me seriously consider moving to a country that forces it's children to attend school always. ALWAYS.
That being said, welcome humble readers to Mayhem Mother's halfway through summer tribute to her quickly vanishing sanity. Because if the work load increases, the stress increases, which means things that the wild boys think are trivial cause me to drink heavily and swear like a sailor as soon as they aren't in ear shot. But that hasn't been going as well as I think apparently. Because the other day while driving to daycare when the boys were watching their movie with what I honestly thought were pretty soundproof headsets on I decided to listen to a little Kesha. And don't get me wrong here, peeps, I HAVE the edited version in the car. It's just that Walmart's version of edited and what we think is appropriate for our six year olds varies greatly. Which is why I knew I was screwed when the little six year old voice popped up in the back seat "Mom, what's a coochie?"
Crap.
There are certain conversations, ladies and gentlemen, that I pray that I can have with my children and NEVER have them repeat again outside of my presence when I can at least explain and defend myself. That was one of them.
Another one happened in the car not long after that. When the boys inquired (and I don't know why they'd bother, they had to know the answer, it's always the same after all) if we made it out quick enough and were actually on time. Laughter bubbled from deep within my gut. Seriously, how could we possibly be on time? A flip flop had vanished into another dimension entirely with two minutes to go. Both of them forgot their drinks on the way to the car and had to go back. I was jamming breakfast for them, snacks and a lunch for me into the bag I have been living out of during swim lesson season (yes, I'm a bag lady people - I have everything from changes of clothes to swimsuits and towels to goggles and fruit snacks and basic first aid in a bag that itself should justify me hiring a Sherpa to carry, but I don't have the money if I keep the housekeeper and swim season is only temporary...) when the actual time to leave came and passed. And then Gabriel refused to get in the car if he couldn't do it himself (eye twitch, count to ten, don't freak out), but he's unable to open the car door and rather than let someone assist him insists that Gavin grab the back of his pants and pull him while he pulls the car door. Yes I'm serious. So no, no we were not on time. And the ensuing conversation went something like this:
Me: "No guys, we're super late. Like, we're supposed to be there in 5 minutes and we have 10 minutes to go still, that kind of late."
Gabe: "Oh. You should let me drive then." (yes, this is in fact the 4 year old.)
Gavin: "You can't drive! You aren't old enough!"
Gabe, very calmly: "I can drive. I'm on the leaderboard on the SpongeBob game at Pizza Factory."
Me: "Oh, well then, that changes everything. I'll pull over right now."
Gabe and Gavin: "Really?"
Me: "Good God NO! I want to live!"
Gabe: "Besides Gavin, I've driven the car before. When we were at Chey-chey and Brielle's house, and you and Daddy were shooting guns but I couldn't because I wasn't 4 yet, Mommy let me drive the car."
Now here, readers, is where I feel like IF he were to repeat this conversation when I couldn't explain that he was on my lap just steering on a driveway, I would sound like the Brittany Spears of the parenting world. I know, it still isn't great. But it makes me wonder what exactly OTHER people hear about our family and must think. Yeah, my five year old was target shooting and my three year old was driving on a dirt road. We live in redneck country! I cannot be held entirely responsible here!
So I've been trying to be relatively cautious in our conversations lest they be repeated. This morning I slipped a little, which I realized when the cop watched in fascination as I explained to Gabe that he was, in fact, pinching his nipples. Yes, that's what those are. And that's why people will stare at you like a weirdo if you do it in public.
But I'm trying, I really am.
Until next time.
That being said, welcome humble readers to Mayhem Mother's halfway through summer tribute to her quickly vanishing sanity. Because if the work load increases, the stress increases, which means things that the wild boys think are trivial cause me to drink heavily and swear like a sailor as soon as they aren't in ear shot. But that hasn't been going as well as I think apparently. Because the other day while driving to daycare when the boys were watching their movie with what I honestly thought were pretty soundproof headsets on I decided to listen to a little Kesha. And don't get me wrong here, peeps, I HAVE the edited version in the car. It's just that Walmart's version of edited and what we think is appropriate for our six year olds varies greatly. Which is why I knew I was screwed when the little six year old voice popped up in the back seat "Mom, what's a coochie?"
Crap.
There are certain conversations, ladies and gentlemen, that I pray that I can have with my children and NEVER have them repeat again outside of my presence when I can at least explain and defend myself. That was one of them.
Another one happened in the car not long after that. When the boys inquired (and I don't know why they'd bother, they had to know the answer, it's always the same after all) if we made it out quick enough and were actually on time. Laughter bubbled from deep within my gut. Seriously, how could we possibly be on time? A flip flop had vanished into another dimension entirely with two minutes to go. Both of them forgot their drinks on the way to the car and had to go back. I was jamming breakfast for them, snacks and a lunch for me into the bag I have been living out of during swim lesson season (yes, I'm a bag lady people - I have everything from changes of clothes to swimsuits and towels to goggles and fruit snacks and basic first aid in a bag that itself should justify me hiring a Sherpa to carry, but I don't have the money if I keep the housekeeper and swim season is only temporary...) when the actual time to leave came and passed. And then Gabriel refused to get in the car if he couldn't do it himself (eye twitch, count to ten, don't freak out), but he's unable to open the car door and rather than let someone assist him insists that Gavin grab the back of his pants and pull him while he pulls the car door. Yes I'm serious. So no, no we were not on time. And the ensuing conversation went something like this:
Me: "No guys, we're super late. Like, we're supposed to be there in 5 minutes and we have 10 minutes to go still, that kind of late."
Gabe: "Oh. You should let me drive then." (yes, this is in fact the 4 year old.)
Gavin: "You can't drive! You aren't old enough!"
Gabe, very calmly: "I can drive. I'm on the leaderboard on the SpongeBob game at Pizza Factory."
Me: "Oh, well then, that changes everything. I'll pull over right now."
Gabe and Gavin: "Really?"
Me: "Good God NO! I want to live!"
Gabe: "Besides Gavin, I've driven the car before. When we were at Chey-chey and Brielle's house, and you and Daddy were shooting guns but I couldn't because I wasn't 4 yet, Mommy let me drive the car."
Now here, readers, is where I feel like IF he were to repeat this conversation when I couldn't explain that he was on my lap just steering on a driveway, I would sound like the Brittany Spears of the parenting world. I know, it still isn't great. But it makes me wonder what exactly OTHER people hear about our family and must think. Yeah, my five year old was target shooting and my three year old was driving on a dirt road. We live in redneck country! I cannot be held entirely responsible here!
So I've been trying to be relatively cautious in our conversations lest they be repeated. This morning I slipped a little, which I realized when the cop watched in fascination as I explained to Gabe that he was, in fact, pinching his nipples. Yes, that's what those are. And that's why people will stare at you like a weirdo if you do it in public.
But I'm trying, I really am.
Until next time.
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