Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Dirty Laundry and Missing Shoes

These boys... oh, Lord... these boys.

I don't even know.

Alex is a freaking angel boy when it comes to getting ready for school. He gets up, helps me dress him, eats his cereal, and waits for the bus with no problem.

While I was on my way to get Alex, I tossed the Goofy one his clothes. After dressing Alex, I went back and told the Goofy one to change his shirt, I put his socks on and instructed him to find his shoes.

I went to dress the girl and realized her socks were in the dryer. at 7:30. Getting her socks out of the dryer, I realized Walter overslept.

Finished with the girl, I went to put Alex's things outside and got a text from Walter, "OMG, I don't have any clean shirts." I text back, "wear a long sleeved t-shirt and wash your clothes tonight." He texts back, "I sleep in them, I don't have any clean." I drop my head, take a breath, put out my cigarette and go get one of his dad's shirts.

Alex wants to stand in the yard where the bus comes instead of sitting in his boring seat. We stand by the road, he watches traffic, rocking gently from side to side, and gives his mama some love.

Once Alex catches his bus, I come in to find the Goofy one still doesn't have shoes. I see Walter coming up the stairs in his shoes. I yell at him to take his medicine and make it quick or he will miss his bus, next thing I know, he has no shoes and can't find them. He wants his boots, not his shoes.

I'm "helping" the Goofy One look for his shoes, and by "helping," I mean doing it for him, and can't find the damned things anywhere. Not only can I not find his shoes, I can't find any shoes. Not t-shoes, not sandals, not swimming shoes... nothing but snow boots. He is not wearing snow boots.

Looking for shoes in the basement, I hear the bus stop and chatty children disappear. I look a little more and head upstairs frustrated. Walter comes walking in the door, heaving a sigh. "Missed your bus?" he nods. "You'll have to wait."

I find the Goofy Child's shoes out back, sitting in a puddle of mud, soaked from the rain and filthy. He's wearing snow boots.

Walter disappears. He texts me a few minutes later, "barely made it." I text back, "You better not be walking to school." "No, I caught the bus." Grounded. So effing grounded, you freaking little liar.

I put the Goofy One on the bus, ranting at the neighbor dad that I've had it! Freaking teenage boys thinking they are big and bad and can do whatever the hell they want, I am going to school! He's laughing because he knows. He raised boys of his own and the boy he has now is going through the same thing. I have to make a point with this one before things get out of hand. and after my dumb ass taught him to weigh the worth against the cost of breaking the rules, I have to make sure the cost outweighs the worth by a long shot.

Putting the Goofy One on the bus with his dirty face and snow boots, I realize I didn't give him his medicine.


Fine, just fine.

I pack my purse, put the girl's shoes back on, and go pee before we leave. Coming out of the bathroom, I step in a pile of Comet. Seriously!? It took me 30 seconds! and I didn't even know we had Comet! Whatever! I put the girl's shoes back on, again, and we head out the door.

I go straight for Walter's school in my "classic stay at home mom outfit," to quote a well dressed and always pretty stay at home mom, with my bleach stained shirt, mismatched capri pants, unshaved legs, and tossed up hair. I confiscate Walter's phone for the foreseeable future, give him his meds and a serious lecture where I explain to him that every day for the rest of this week, I will be walking to the bus stop with him. He'll be lucky if I don't hold his hand. and I let him know next time I have to come to school, I will be doing it in my pj's. between classes. On the way out, I loudly wish him a good day and declare my love for him. That's what he gets for not saying it back on the phone yesterday. and, checkmate.

I go to the Goofy One's school and wait for him in the nurse's office. He comes walking in in his dirty face and snow boots, takes his medicine with no problem. I tell him he has something on his face and get a wet paper towel to wipe it. He says, oh, that's probably lunch. No, baby, it's just a smear of parental failure.


  1. I love the way that you write, your style is definitely like no other :) I lol-ed on the "checkmate"