So, on Wednesday night I took the kids to get their new glasses. Now keep in mind, I am on a first name basis with all the people in Empire Vision. Due to great genetics on their Mother's side, my small people are doomed to wear glasses. And, I accordingly am doomed to have to actually pay for them since the insurance does not cover getting new lenses in your glasses every six months. It is not an exciting place for me to go.
Damn kids need to stop growing already. And I need to buy stock in Empire.
I tell you this to put into context what I'm going to say next.
So, the kids talk to me a lot about various things they are into and what their friends are up to.
Occasionally one tells me something that makes my hair stand on end.
As I am pulling into my garage, my son tells me that his friend on the bus wants to grow up to be a serial killer.
We are all lucky I am actually parked when this startling news hits my ears.
I ask him to repeat himself since I am pretty sure the BIG BOOK OF PARENTING does not cover what to do in such an occasion.
He continues. Well, he wants to be a serial killer because he wants to kill all the people who are mean to him because he is black. (these are not my words, but what the little boy said)
At this point I start yelling. It seems to be my defense when I don't know what to do. I am mad about kids/people being mean to a small little person who thinks it's because he is different, I am mad because I am scared, I am mad because like I said, there is no book I can look up what to do.
THE MAN and I discuss who is e-mailing the principal who obviously takes classes on what to do when a small person wants to grow up to be a serial killer since our degree programs did not cover such things.
Needless to say, the overall flow of the house was a bit scattered for a bit as we pulled together supper.
FAST FORWARD to five minutes before the bus is coming yesterday morning.
The same boy is checking is folder to make sure his Mom managed to sign his homework book so he will avoid having to walk around for 15 minutes and miss part of recess. He bursts into tears as he has forgotten to work on his potato. If a big person had actually signed his book we may have actually figured that out. Ooopsie. Mom of the Year Award has eluded my grasp again.
This time I am not yelling. I said, well, guess you are missing the bus and working on this until it's time for me to drive you to school. I was annoyed since I was pretty sure he had this project for a couple of days. I also know this type of project is not his favorite thing to do.
He raids my scrapbooking stuff and gets started. Since I have to actually appear in public, I am making an effort to have dry hair and actual clothes in between making work phone calls.
When I check on him, he has done a bang up job. I give him a small little star punch and before you know it we are pulling out of the driveway to go to school.
He looks at me with a tear in his eye and says...Mom, I'm so glad you scrapbook. Me too buddy, me too. I am glad so glad I scrapbook. But I am also glad you're around to test the very limits of my Mom brain and keep me hopping.
Happy Friday and I can honestly say TGIF!