Wild Boy Babysitter Prep
Hola friends, and welcome to another harrowing tale of surviving mothering the Wild Boys. This week finds us all SO READY for summer vacation. I'm not sure how the teachers at the elementary school are surviving, because my kids mentally signed out about ten days ago. It wasn't even warm enough for shorts, but when they realized there was less than a month left they went cerebrally surfer. They've been forcing the issue, wearing flip flops and shorts without anything else despite the sixty degree temperature. It's that kind of sacrifice and dedication that gives them wicked tan lines while I sit in a dark corner glowing in all my albino glory. They are forced to wear real shoes and shirts to school which only magnifies their resentment, and means my car looks like small hobos may live in it because they manage to pop out as it's still moving in the driveway half naked to play outside leaving everything that made them respectable (you know, like shoes and shirts) in a pile in the backseat. And quite frankly, I'm too tired to care. Plus once they get to that level of disrobe they're almost feral, and forcing the issue may result in some Lord of the Flies action up in la Casa. I'm on the lookout for a conch, if I see one I'll know my days are numbered.
The weather is finally considerably warmer today though, which I know the Wild Boys would love had I not just pawned them off on the grandparents for what will be at least six hours in the car to visit family in the Bay Area. It's getting really hard to find babysitters for those two, and the cop and I have a fundraiser dinner to attend tonight. I know, this seems cruel to the Wild Boys AND the grandparents, but we're all making sacrifices. I am going to have to wear heels and that's for sure no picnic. But it's more than that. Prepping the wild boys to be appropriate to take to a function full of distant relatives they don't know is literally one of the most daunting tasks ever. It started yesterday, when I picked Gavin up from a pool party at a friend's house to shuttle him to baseball. As I was driving he casually asked if I had a first aid kit handy.
Listen, I know most parents would probably balk at that. But these kids are hurt ALL THE TIME. So yes, I do always have a first aid kit handy in my purse. And my trunk. And my daypack for trips. And the truck. You get the idea right? Turns out while playing by the pool he had managed to get run over by someone on a scooter and lose the bulk of a toenail. Insert me gagging here, because broken bones are no issue but matters of ripped off nails make me want to go fetal. And while he managed to get a cleat on for practice yesterday he woke up this morning unable to get a shoe on at all. Super. So, khaki shorts, polo shirt and....that's right, flip flops. He's halfway to winning. You see it, right? I'm starting to suspect the toenail was an intentional sacrifice to keep him out of dress shoes. If my heels for tonight were closed toe I would consider the same thing, actually. But they aren't, and I paid for a pedicure, so no flip flops for me. Sigh. Adulting sucks.
I was smart enough to make sure the boys had clean clothes prepped last night, so in theory aside from the toe fiasco this morning should have been seamless. But for the cow licks. We've been busy, they've been feral, and our hours don't always mesh with the barber. They had to this morning, though, because it seriously looked like wild animals had nested on their heads. Down to the barber we went, getting shorter and shorter on precious prep time. And the wild boys will not be shorn without reward, so that trip was followed with a short stop for a donut.
Or so I thought.
Since I finally cleared out little hobo land in the backseat this week I told the boys there was no way food was coming in the car, so they needed to eat quickly. Gav was seriously down to two bites left when he excused himself to go to the bathroom. It's a small shop, and he was in no way moving quick and while first I panicked because I realized we had less than an hour to get home and finish getting ready, I next panicked because I had the dawning realization we were in a tiny donut shop with very thin walls and he had been gone WAY too long to just be peeing. And as if on cue, I started hearing actual MOANING coming from Gavin in the bathroom. I know, I know, they're little boys and I should expect this right? But then I hear the door crack and him call out "Gabe, come look at this!"
No, I'm not kidding. I really, really wish I was kidding.
And before I could say anything Gabe had bolted into the tiny bathroom and the door was shut again. The staff and I all stared horrified at the door. The moaning noises were really bad, and not at all quiet. After a minute or two Gavin came out, with toilet paper covered in blood hanging from his mouth and dropped a molar in my hand, scarfed down the remnants of donut on the table and then told me we should go, we were going to be late. Turns out he just wanted to rip a tooth out while we were there so he wouldn't bleed in the car. On the bright side, no smell will haunt the bathroom of the donut shop. The down side is the staff probably thinks the Wild Boys were in some kind of Fight Club, because while Gav was courteous enough to spit the bulk of the blood in the toilet there he admitted on the way home he may have forgot to flush. Hopefully they forgive us. They seriously make the best donuts in the county, and I'd be so bummed if we were banned.
So, home with ten minutes to spare, I forced the boys to put on their nicer clothes (and flip flops). As I made one final check I realized Gabe had an open wound on his arm, they both had dried blood smeared on them, and they had fingernails that would make Wolverine himself jealous. But that's all minutia really, and I was able to get a final hose down, nail clipping, and pack a bag of entertainment and snacks all by the time the grandparents pulled into the driveway and blindly accepted transfer of Wild Boys. As they left they looked super respectable. It's been an hour now, which means they're probably half naked in the car and communicating via snarls and grunts.
This is probably why it's so hard to find babysitters I suppose.
And now I'm off to enjoy an afternoon that does not involve tending wounds and holding people's teeth for them. Until next time!
The weather is finally considerably warmer today though, which I know the Wild Boys would love had I not just pawned them off on the grandparents for what will be at least six hours in the car to visit family in the Bay Area. It's getting really hard to find babysitters for those two, and the cop and I have a fundraiser dinner to attend tonight. I know, this seems cruel to the Wild Boys AND the grandparents, but we're all making sacrifices. I am going to have to wear heels and that's for sure no picnic. But it's more than that. Prepping the wild boys to be appropriate to take to a function full of distant relatives they don't know is literally one of the most daunting tasks ever. It started yesterday, when I picked Gavin up from a pool party at a friend's house to shuttle him to baseball. As I was driving he casually asked if I had a first aid kit handy.
Listen, I know most parents would probably balk at that. But these kids are hurt ALL THE TIME. So yes, I do always have a first aid kit handy in my purse. And my trunk. And my daypack for trips. And the truck. You get the idea right? Turns out while playing by the pool he had managed to get run over by someone on a scooter and lose the bulk of a toenail. Insert me gagging here, because broken bones are no issue but matters of ripped off nails make me want to go fetal. And while he managed to get a cleat on for practice yesterday he woke up this morning unable to get a shoe on at all. Super. So, khaki shorts, polo shirt and....that's right, flip flops. He's halfway to winning. You see it, right? I'm starting to suspect the toenail was an intentional sacrifice to keep him out of dress shoes. If my heels for tonight were closed toe I would consider the same thing, actually. But they aren't, and I paid for a pedicure, so no flip flops for me. Sigh. Adulting sucks.
I was smart enough to make sure the boys had clean clothes prepped last night, so in theory aside from the toe fiasco this morning should have been seamless. But for the cow licks. We've been busy, they've been feral, and our hours don't always mesh with the barber. They had to this morning, though, because it seriously looked like wild animals had nested on their heads. Down to the barber we went, getting shorter and shorter on precious prep time. And the wild boys will not be shorn without reward, so that trip was followed with a short stop for a donut.
Or so I thought.
Since I finally cleared out little hobo land in the backseat this week I told the boys there was no way food was coming in the car, so they needed to eat quickly. Gav was seriously down to two bites left when he excused himself to go to the bathroom. It's a small shop, and he was in no way moving quick and while first I panicked because I realized we had less than an hour to get home and finish getting ready, I next panicked because I had the dawning realization we were in a tiny donut shop with very thin walls and he had been gone WAY too long to just be peeing. And as if on cue, I started hearing actual MOANING coming from Gavin in the bathroom. I know, I know, they're little boys and I should expect this right? But then I hear the door crack and him call out "Gabe, come look at this!"
No, I'm not kidding. I really, really wish I was kidding.
And before I could say anything Gabe had bolted into the tiny bathroom and the door was shut again. The staff and I all stared horrified at the door. The moaning noises were really bad, and not at all quiet. After a minute or two Gavin came out, with toilet paper covered in blood hanging from his mouth and dropped a molar in my hand, scarfed down the remnants of donut on the table and then told me we should go, we were going to be late. Turns out he just wanted to rip a tooth out while we were there so he wouldn't bleed in the car. On the bright side, no smell will haunt the bathroom of the donut shop. The down side is the staff probably thinks the Wild Boys were in some kind of Fight Club, because while Gav was courteous enough to spit the bulk of the blood in the toilet there he admitted on the way home he may have forgot to flush. Hopefully they forgive us. They seriously make the best donuts in the county, and I'd be so bummed if we were banned.
So, home with ten minutes to spare, I forced the boys to put on their nicer clothes (and flip flops). As I made one final check I realized Gabe had an open wound on his arm, they both had dried blood smeared on them, and they had fingernails that would make Wolverine himself jealous. But that's all minutia really, and I was able to get a final hose down, nail clipping, and pack a bag of entertainment and snacks all by the time the grandparents pulled into the driveway and blindly accepted transfer of Wild Boys. As they left they looked super respectable. It's been an hour now, which means they're probably half naked in the car and communicating via snarls and grunts.
This is probably why it's so hard to find babysitters I suppose.
And now I'm off to enjoy an afternoon that does not involve tending wounds and holding people's teeth for them. Until next time!
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