Is it another sign I’m a bad mama that my cigarettes and I are hiding in the garage, still pajamified at almost 9, hiding from little princesses?
It was one of those weeks.
I’ve had drama at work (classroom management issues in my last block).
Hubby has been busy with work and hunting.
I’m fighting both the boy-child and his school and wishing he was a carbon copy of me.
Hubby and the boy-child were in bed by 8 last night to go hunting at 4 this morning.
And Audie Bear’s best friend spent the night.
I don’t usually do the whole sleepover thing unless we’re on a school break. I like peace and quiet. I deal with rowdy kids all week. I have things to do. I genuinely adore my children’s friends but I need those two little days.
It was a huge favor.
I’m good friends with E’s mom and she was desperate. She was in a wedding last night, the ex changed weekends on her, and she can’t afford a sitter.
And I know that it’ll be reciprocated.
The boy-child is easy. When his friends come to stay, they hole up in his room with video games and movies. You see them when they ambush the pantry and that’s it. They sleep all day, practicing for the teenage years.
What is it about little girls?
They want to do the Easy Bake and hair and make up and dress up and for some reason Mom has to play, too.
“Can we play with Polly Pocket and the dunking booth?”
“Remember the water bill? The hall carpet?”
“I was little, Mooooom. That was the summer. Puhlease?”
Should I write the check now?
I expect boys to be walking appetites. I’m finding that 7 year old girls are, too. Two frozen pizzas, 2 gallons of kook-aid, a package of fruit roll ups, 2 boxes of cereal, and a gallon of milk. So far. It’s only 9am.
And at 6 this morning, I woke to a little face, inches from mine.
“We’re bored. Can we paint?
C’mon. You set the recird for staying up all night. Aren’t you sleepy?
“Mom, the dog ate all the toilet paper.”
“Mrs. Katie, I can’t find the red nail – Uh oh.”
“Mom, E doesn’t like frosted flakes. Can we have Dr. Pepper?”
“Uh oh. Your mom has her grown up cup. My mom says that means we’re getting on her nerves.”
The joys of parenting.
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