After what seemed like a bloody eternity, M and I got a sitter and went out this weekend. And coming of the heels on last week’s marathon of sleep deprivation, I certainly needed it. I was willing to overlook the fact that Fiona called us (wasn’t even going to query how a three year old makes a phone call), but I was none too thrilled to come home and find out that things went very well, “especially once I took your eye pencil away from Bennett.”
Again, I am willing to overlook the fact that there was money wasted. I personally don’t believe that makeup that costs less than $20 works, and I am convinced (mascara aside) that drug store makeup is for emergencies and what my father used to refer to as “common girls.” (Save your hate mail, please. I half jest.) But seriously — can’t you keep your dirty nine year old paws off my stuff?
This morning he came down and handed me MY digital camera. I looked down and saw of picture of him, in a full fake mustache (from where, I may never know), gobs of my eye pencil on what were now pronounced arched eyebrows.. oh, and a suit and tie. Yeah, just a little fun for the babysitter.
Sometimes I think I’ll never be able to count all the mistakes I’ve made with him. Firstborns are recipients of all our screw-ups. This afternoon Fiona and I were in Trader Joe’s. And she is clutching a box of lollipops, one of which she gets to have as a reward for failing to pee in her pants at school (this BTW is a common pastime for my kids. they toilet train and almost a year later they pee in their pants for fun. it’s hysterical, really). A poor little firstborn is behind her with his very hip mother (she must be visiting from out of town. nobody like that lives here.)
“I want a lollipop,” he says.
“Oh you made your choice already. You picked another treat.”
“But I want a lollipop now.”
“I know precious, but you already picked your treat. Look, aren’t you excited for your Emergen-c? It’s yellow and it’s fizzy and look, it has five whole grams of sugar!”
“No. I want a lollipop. You can take that fake treat and shove it, lady.”
Ok, I made that last bit up…but I can’t judge – I may not have tried to convince Bennett that a vitamin C-infused-flu-relief-drink is a treat, but I know I did crazy stuff like that too and now my firstborn dresses up like an Italian circus ringleader the minute I leave the house.
Heaven help us all.