At the ball game
Leah and Zack were playing under the bleachers when I lost sight of the little guy.
“Leah?” I called. “Where’s your brother?”
“He’s right here,” she said. “And could you come and get him? He’s embarrassing me.”
What? She’s four. How does she even know what embarrassing is? And excuse me, but you’re the young lady with plumber’s crack. There’s an embarrassing gene, missy, and everyone in this family’s got it!
Then, later, Zack climbed up to me on the bleachers.
“Mom, there’s poo,” he said. “Come see.”
“No thanks,” I said. “I already know what poo looks like.”
“NOOOOO,” he said. “Come see.”
Worried that he might play with it if I don’t take a gander, I climbed down the bleachers and followed him to the backside (haha) where, he’s right, there was indeed a pile of human feces. How or why it got there, I was not interested in knowing. “See!” he said, triumphant. “There’s poo.”
“Let’s leave the poo alone,” I told him. Puzzled, he looked at me. “No,” he said. “I still wanna see it.”
As I was dragging Zack away, Leah, who had come to take a peek, informed me, “You should clean it up.”
“Listen,” I said, in my adult voice, wanting to make this one thing very clear. “I may clean the poo up at our house, but it’s not mommy’s job to clean the poo up at the baseball field.” She nodded, satisfied.
At McDonalds for a lunch date with our Great Uncle Bill
Leah opened the alarmed door and sent a very packed playland into a tizzy. After which I offered a very public apology.
Zack became extremely disappointed that his Surf’s Up toy wasn’t Cody. (Who, by the way, is Cody, and why has my son, who has yet to see the movie, developed such an affinity for him?)
At the doctor’s office
I got nothing. Zack had his three-year checkup and one shot without incident. (Woohoo!)
So there you have it. Motherhood is not only fun, but it’s funny. Funny haha, or funny looney? Well, you be the judge.