On our way to take Columbine to school, Wooly bumped my on-the-go breakfast in a bowl. The one I'd planned to eat, looked forward to eating, while driving. The lovely mound of diced papaya and Greek yogurt, drizzled with honey, did an impressive double gainer, splashing completely into my purse. Proving, once again, the fortuitous necessity of carrying baby wipes at all times, long after they outgrow their original diaper-and-bum usage.
I should have taken note of this papaya dumping omen. Making a U-turn half way up the Pali Highway, to return back home for forgotten slippers, was another bad sign.
By the end of Columbine's school day, we'd reloaded again, this time to shuttle and pick up Hibiscus. Yesterday was presentation day for Science Projects. I'd had a prayer tucked quietly in my heart all day, hoping that it would go well. All it'd take was one jerk of her homemade pulley system to send a tin-can of bubble solution flying, ruining the whole dazzling effect of the "Perfect Pulley Bubble Blower" science experiment. Because duct tape around string on a can only holds up against so much resistance.
Thankfully, the presentation was a popping success, but I came prepared at pick-up, just in case. I parked the car, stepped out, balancing a consolation or congratulatory cup of chocolate milk (with ice and whip cream!) in one hand and unsnapping Wooly's buckle with the other hand. I should have anticipated his rocket launch off the springboard of the car mat, but this time, distracted by Hibiscuses chocolate milk, I didn't see it coming.
Out jumped Wooly, out jumped the chocolate milk. Making this his second show stopping moment as another delectable treat triple flipped to the sidewalk. At least this one missed the purse!
I made no mention of the chocolate milk explosion, until Hibiscus returned to the car and noticed the smear of whip cream on the door panel. Thank you, again, inventors of baby wipes. The afternoon's tragedy's culminated to a sad end as, Hibiscus, recounted slide disaster at recess.
For weeks, she has worn the sweetest little white bead bracelet around her wrist. It was a gift from G&G Gessel at her baptism. She's worn it every day since. Tears bubbled over, not the science project kind, as she pulled a ziploc baggie from her backpack. There cradled in the sad palm of her hand were the broken peices of the bracelet.
"Oh no! What happened?" I asked.
"It was the crazy boy! The one who needs reading help, who did it," she blubbered from the backseat. "Mom! This is not funny. Why are you laughing?"
I couldn't help it, the description was hilarious to me.
"I'm sorry, Honey. You're right, this is not funny. Except for your description. How did crazy, reading help, boy break your bracelet?" I asked most sincerely.
Apparently, crazy boy came flying down the slide, slammed into her wrist, and the rest (read: bracelet) was history. Which is almost as bad as papaya and honey flopping into your favorite purse. But, we've got the other crazy boy, who still needs reading help, to blame for that one.
Last tragedy: Mr. Forget-me-not is in the dog house (literally). He borrowed my slick pair of sunglasses, lightweight, sporty and least girlie looking. We'd ditched the kids at the sitters, for a beach run date together. When we got to the beach, he realized that he forgot his own sunglasses and I happened to have two pairs, of course, in the car.
Beach run, awesome. Making fun of the Mister for looking like a girl in my sunglasses, also awesome. Smoothie treat afterwards, super awesome. Calling the babysitter's house after we'd picked up the kids to find out that the sunglasses Mr. Forget-me-not accidentally left behind had been eaten by their puppy, not so awesome.
Sometimes, tragedies befall us. If we're lucky, the comedy part is supplied by the crazy boys.
The end.
Always on the grow,
I can sum it up with a life-long observation of the genders, boys are destructive and girls are emotional. I have a surplus of the destructive here, but I also have one that is a hybrid. Sometimes the destruction is easier to deal with...sometimes.
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