I met a friend for lunch today. We monopolized the table at Bahama Breeze for a good three hours, reviewing the happenings since we last met. (Which we think was over two years ago. Oh, how time flies.) After our lunch, I headed over to Ikea, managing to make at least four wrong turns and three U-turns in my determination to find that giant warehouse with its meandering paths and cheap tea lights.
I bought my boys two chair-beds, which are exactly what they say. They will require assembly which I intend to attempt tomorrow when I am better rested than today. While I have yet to meet something I cannot assemble, occasionally the task is accompanied by some huffing and puffing and maybe a few Christian curse-words: “Shoot!” “ARRRRG!” and “I HATE THIS!” Okay, “I hate this” is not a Christian curse-words, but still. I use it like one.
My husband took the kids to the pool in my absence.
When I returned home, my daughter crawled into my lap, obviously exhausted. I begged her to let me comb her matted curly hair, but she refused. Tomorrow morning untangling that mess will be such fun. Anyway, she always takes it personally when I go away on a Saturday. She wants nothing more than to spend every waking moment with me . . . while I need a break from her from time to time.
When I put her to bed, she asked if we could go to Target tomorrow. I said, “No.” She wanted to know if we could go to the One-Dollar Store. I said, “No, but we will do something tomorrow.” I have in mind that we could go blueberry picking if it doesn’t rain.
Three times she got out of bed. One of those times, it was to ask me, “But Mom, where can we shop?” She wants to shop! Shop until she drops! None of my other children (read: BOYS) will tolerate even a short shopping trip. I remember one time that I had to take them to the market to buy a few provisions. I was eight months pregnant and my three boys were prancing about, putting each other in headlocks, poking each other and generally causing a ruckus. I stood sweating that August, waiting my turn. When it came, the clerk said, “Another boy?” and I said with exasperation, “God forBID!”
And sure enough, God gave me a little girl who just wants to have some fun . . . at a store, any store. Maybe a pet store? “Mom, can I have a rat?” I’d rather go to Target!