Warning: This post contains high levels of complete randomness.
Sometimes as a parent I just want to hold my hands up high in the air and scream, “What the heck is the matter with y’all!” Of course, I probably wouldn’t be saying heck either. Look, my kids are natural born knuckleheads–especially my youngest. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them not to do something, they do it. It doesn’t matter how many times I give them the stink-eye or put them in timeout, they still disobey. I’ve probably had more meltdowns than them.
Like that time my youngest stripped himself inside the Flower Mound Texas Post Office and I about died. My husband does all the mailings now.
Or that time they prank called 911. Uh huh.
Which reminds me…I’ve been telling my kids to stop throwing their toys over the fence and into the creep’s side yard ever since we moved in here almost two years ago. Last week my youngest decided he was going to drop a chalk-colored landscape brick over the fence. Next thing I know the kids are running in the house screaming “Scary Jerry is coming over Mommy!” To which I threw my hands up in the air and yelled, “What the heck is the matter with y’all?”
Doorbell chimes and it’s Scary Jerry at the door with an exacerbated, “I want to let you know that since you called the police on me, next time your kids drop something over the fence I am calling the police on you!”
To which I replied as content and happily as I could, “Next time they do that Jerry, I want you to call the police.” Dude, that is a can of worms you do not want to open.
Fast forward today: I am again in Flower Mound on my way to my middle son’s eye doctor’s appointment. I did everything right–dressed them an hour beforehand and left twenty minutes earlier than needed. Then I hopped in my car with the kids and drove, and drove, and drove, and you get the idea. I never did find the eye doctor’s office even after stopping and asking a local dentist office for directions. I drove for forty minutes and couldn’t find the stinking place. Thirty minutes after my son’s appointment I finally gave up and went home and had a meltdown. Found out they’re next to a sandwich shop to which I wanted to scream, “What the heck is the matter with y’all!”
Then I remembered it really wasn’t their fault–it was mine for not charging my cell phone battery so I could call for directions. Oh and somehow my own vision was blurry over crying to the beat of “It Don’t Matter If You’re Black or White! Ow!” Dang you Michael.
And now my oldest has politely informed me his little brother just gave him a wedgie. Later folks.
