This morning The Boy got up at his usual time, before-the-sun-o'clock, so we did what we always do: put him in our bed and tried to make him go back to sleep. And he did what he always does: whine, thrash, talk, and ask for breakfast.
So we got up and walked around all sleepy getting ready for work. I fixed him some leftover pancakes and he sat down on his tiny step stool to eat. He prefers to take all his meals there- it's like his throne in the kitchen. Then of course he got a song in his head and had to stand up and dance around the kitchen mid-bite, and Prissy took the opportunity to eat his pancakes off his stool. And that made him cry. And I fixed him more pancakes, which he stuffed into his mouth all at once in a dramatic nah-nah-nah-boo-boo to the dog, who did not care.
After that minor crisis management, I fixed my chai and tag teamed The Husband so I could take a shower. I LOVE my shower time. Alone. As far as I knew The Husband was getting him dressed, when I heard a shrill scream in the bathroom. "Mommymommymommymommy! They 'cary monstas!"
I said from the safety of the shower "There are no scary monsters." But he couldn't be persuaded. He was genuinely scared of something, and he continued to cry about the monstas. But it was my shower time, after all. So I said "well go find your dad and tell him about the monsters." And he was off. Whew. Alone again.
And then The Husband came in the bathroom and hollered "Hon, did you forget something?" I closed my eyes under the water and replied "probably." Chances are actually pretty good on any given day that I've forgotten something somewhere, but just let me take a shower. Apparently he went to go get The Boy some clean underwear from the dryer and I'd forgotten to shut the door or turn on the dryer. Yesterday. All those clothes needed to be re-washed and neither male in my house had any clean underwear. Oops. I mumbled something under my breath about me doing everything around here without any thanks, while I stood under the shower and The Husband in fact, did everything around here without any thanks. That's the way it goes.
The Husband found them each a clean pair of underwear, and we all got dressed. We kissed The Husband goodbye and The Boy shouted "Bye, son!" to his father as he went out the door. Then I let The Boy play his ipad game while I put dinner in the crock pot. It's a game where different people ring the doorbell and you open the door and drag a newspaper or coffee or flower to them. Rousing.
So the ipad ding dongs the ipad doorbell. And Prissy thought it was a real doorbell, because dog brains haven't evolved to understand ipads yet. And she barked and barked, and it startled The Boy, and he cried, and I yelled at him to just answer the ipad door. But the bell continued to ring. And Prissy continued to bark. And he continued to cry. JUST ANSWER THE DOOR! I answered the digital door myself, to ipad cheers "It's Grandpa!!!" Great, Grandpa. Just great.
Then I realized that we didn't have a beer, which I needed for my crock pot corned beef and potatoes and onions. This was the first time I'd made this recipe, so I didn't know if I could play around with it or not. I decided to run to the store to get one. I took The Boy to the car, and locked him in with instructions to climb in his seat while I locked up the house. He likes to do it BYMYSELF! but it takes him about 12 minutes. So I ran back in the rain to lock up the house. I got back to the car, and he was still standing in the back. "What are you doing, bud? Climb in your seat" I said as I stood in the rain. "Oh, me" he said, as he looked down at the wet spot on his jeans.
"Oh me!" I said, "Did you wet your pants?" Outside I was casual, inside I was like "YOU DON'T HAVE ANY CLEAN UNDERWEAR."So we went back through the rain, in the house, to clean up and change clothes. Except he really did not have any clean underwear. So I put jeans on him and let him go commando, and we went back to the car, in the rain. This took one million minutes, and I was running late for work.
We pulled up at the convenience store one mile away and it had begun to pour. I unloaded The Boy, who now had no shoes and no underwear. We made it inside, soaking. My hair was dripping. My shirt was splotched. I scanned the store for beer, a woman on a mission. I chose ONE 16oz beer and went to the counter to pay. I chatted with the cashier and paid in cash. We were walking back out to the car in the rain when I started to think about how ridiculous this was....Did I mention I don't even like beer? Or meat? I'm a vegetarian!
And then it hit me. I wonder what the cashier thought. Here I was, in a rush, buying a single beer (paid for with cash) before 8am. A beer I was so desperate for I brought my baby out in the rain without even stopping to get his shoes. Ohmygosh ShethinksI'manalcoholic. Or crazy. I considered running back in, in the rain, to shout "It's for my meat! I was only desperate for this beer for my husband's meat!" but that didn't seem like it was going to make me look any less crazy.
We ran home and I checked my recipe. It only called for 6 ounces. I did all this for six ounces. Backwash, really. I dumped it in without measuring and put the rest in the fridge.
When I got home from work, The Husband had just got home and opened the fridge "Hey, a beer!" he said excitedly. Meanwhile, The Boy had the ipad. "Ding dong...."
