I scurry to the van in an outfit I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Except of course, in front of my children. They see me in all stages of Lisa. There’s a scale of 0-10, 0 being the worst and most hideous. The low-end looks like this: you wake up with the stomach flu, AND simultaneously are sporting the worst case of hormonal acne you’ve ever had, along with the debilitating realization that your hair is about three weeks past its regular hide the gray and pretend you are still 20 appointment. (Psst. 0 days really do exist. Only once, but the memory still makes me shudder)
On the top end of the scale, a 10 would be a day that a friend tells you she’s always secretly thought you remind her a little of Jennifer Aniston. Score! It matters not that she’s just asked you to watch her 5 kids and new puppy overnight. You know she was being genuine.
This morning, I was about at a 5. Not bad, but not good either. My vain mind was going over whether I would be seeing anyone from other than inside the dirty windshield of my People-Mover, and deciding it was too late anyway, I slipped on my son’s slider shoes that Dad calls “slippers” and took my place at the driver’s seat.
“Buddy, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“But, I get bored on the playground! And I LOVE my new football!” …..and then weakly..”everyone brings em.”
“Dude, you need to leave it at home if you don’t want to lose it.”
I break into this conversation going on between my two Sons, “What’s up guys?”
I’m given a synopsis of what has transpired while I was still in the house having one last secretive sip of Diet Coke. (From the hours of 12-10 pm I don’t bother to hide my fizzy and chemical addiction. Before that time, though, the depths of my poor leadership in health and nutrition must be concealed from the youngsters. In the morning, it just seems to be extra evil.)
It turns out, that Littlest really wants to bring his brand new birthday football to school, to play with, and share with friends. My Middler ,and eldest boy of the family is trying to convince little guy to leave it home. He’s worried it will be lost forever, and knows the heartache that will surely follow if his worst fears come to pass.
“Seriously dude, I knew a guy in 4th grade, that brought his brand new football, and he never found it again. Lost. Forever. “, and at an incredulous look from the Little Brother, exclaimed, “True Story! Not even kidding!”
My Firstborn, and only other girl in the family besides myself exchange small smirks, none too obvious though, because in Boyworld, this is evidently a debate of a classic and monumental kind : To bring a prized football to school, or NOT.
There’s silence in the back seat. Littlest is thinking. The older two are deposited at their school, and by the time we pull into the drop-off lane at the Elementary, I feel the need to weigh in on this topic.
“Honey, I really do think what Middler had to say makes a lot of sense.”
A tired and small voice from the back mutters, “I KNOW. He’s ALWAYS right.”
and then more cheerfully,
“Bye Mom!”and he’s out the door before I could say my I love you’s and Be Good’s. He waved at me happily from the sidewalk and took off like a shot, his prized football left behind in the cheese cracker crumbs of his car seat.
It’s little slices of dialogue like this one that leave me smiling all day long. These guys are truly the hearts of my artichoke. Happy Thanksgiving dear friends.