Caution. What follows is a winding road with many forks. I begin with daycare.
When I picked up Charlie, the girls in his class were being chatty Cathys. (No offense to Cathys.) The babysitter looked at me, smiled and said, “Be glad you don’t have girls.”
Oh. I’m glad, alright. Having four sisters was enough estrogen for me. I wanted testosterone in my house. Then again. With testosterone comes bathroom issues – messy, smelly bathroom issues. And, let us not forget, Captain Underpants.
I stopped by my neighbor’s house to drop off a doughnut from Dutch Monkey Doughnuts. (Yeah, I am a pretty cool neighbor. However, my neighbor bakes me cookies – so really, I win.) While I was passing along the goodies, she raised a book off her dinner table. “Have you seen this?” She asked, while holding Pikley’s book “Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of of Professor Poopypants.” We exchanged a look; it was a look of, “Boys are stinky. Why on earth did someone write a book about underpants and poopypants? Men are so immature!” For the record, that book won’t be making it into our house; I’d rather watch a Caillou marathon.
Apparently, today is not one of my better days. Crankiness is rearing its cranky head. The schedule has been fast paced all week, with downtime drowned out by the yelling of brothers, throwing accusations of sneaking peaks during games of Go Fish. The thoughts screaming loudly in my head, trying to be heard, seem to amplify the noises outside my head to 11. ARGH!
Thank goodness for Smucker’s Uncrustables. Though the quiet lasts a mere 5 minutes, the smiles and laughter the sandwiches bring to the boys boosts the spirit and energy level, so we all are ready to enjoy the rest of the night.
Add a little karate lesson, and you’ve got icing on the cake. Thank God for my boys.
For the record, he has had no professional Karate lessons. He’s just naturally talented. (Or something.)