Greg turned 40 last week. 4 to the OH oh oh!
Happy Birthday, Baby!
(Psst… I never call Greg baby. It just felt right this time. Let’s go with it.)
To celebrate, my dad and I are taking Greg on a trip to see friends and museums and live the high life for 4 days. ‘Cause that’s the way we roll when we have a gift of air tickets, a free place to stay, and grandparents who are taking the whole slew of kiddos, minus the teenage daughter who’s embedded at a friend’s house, deep undercover, posing as a child from a normal home. Our kids’ mission this week is to discover exactly how families with clean bathrooms work. They’re writing an exposé, folks, and it’s going to be epic.
Yesterday, I ran around town doing all the last minute running-around-town stuff one does before a trip. You know, like pestering doctors for prescriptions and notifying 100 schools of our absence. As I dropped by one of the schools, a teacher stopped me to chat about our trip. How nice!, I thought.
When are you leaving? she asked.
Oh, I said, we have to leave town at 3:00AM tomorrow. And I must have grimaced just a little because she expressed her sympathy.
But I don’t want to be that person, you know? The person who whines about leaving at 3:00AM instead of being grateful I get to go on a trip at all?
So I said, No, it’s FINE, Mrs. Teacher. It’s really FINE. I mean, let’s be honest. I’m often up at 3:00AM anyway, right? ‘Cause KIDS. They WAKE UP. For ALL KINDS OF THINGS.
And then I meant to tell her about those things. From one mama to another. I meant to say, You know all the things. Bloody noses and wet beds and bad dreams. They never end. And she was already with me with her knowing nods and murmurs of understanding. We were of one mind as I pressed on toward my goal.
You know all the things, I said. You know, Mrs. Teacher. I’m often up at 3:00AM anyway, cleaning up after all the bloody noses and wet dreams.
That’s what I said.
Instead of saying what I meant to say.
Bloody noses and wet dreams.
And then my brain froze, friends, stuck in a loop of bloody noses and wet dreams. Because I… it was… I didn’t know what to…
And I didn’t explain that I meant to say bloody noses, wet beds, and bad dreams. Nope. Sure didn’t. I didn’t explain anything at all. I just stopped awkwardly for 3 seconds or 300 minutes or all of eternity before saying more things in a hurried attempt to cover it all up. Way, way, way too late.
That happened yesterday, and it was far worse than the time I imagined having to explain Tricky Dick and Nixonian politics to an entire kindergarten.
In conclusion, I’m leaving the country. I’ll be gone until my ego recovers or our babysitting expires, whichever comes first.
P.S. Since we’re out of town this week, posting may be spotty, friends. OR, since we’re traveling without children, I may magically find TONS of time and posting will be off the charts. It’s impossible to say for sure.
Sometimes people ask me how I manage to write at all with kids in the mix.
I honestly have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine.
P.P.S. Did I mention that Greg and I are traveling this week? Without kids? TRUE STORY. Guess what we’re doing? No, don’t guess. You’ll never guess. It’s too, too bizarre to guess. I’ll just tell you.
We’re headed to Holland for 2 days. Plus an additional 2 days of travel.
To Holland. For 2 days. Like we’re young, and we don’t know better.
Wait, though. It gets better.
We’re headed to Holland for 2 days to meet a friend I met online through this blog.
OK, OK. I’m sure you think we’re nuts. Off our rockers. And about to be murdered in Amsterdam. But I’ve met friends of this blog before — one of them in the basement of a parking garage in Vegas (hi, Kristi!) — and I will tell you, we are all far too exhausted from parenting (and, apparently, from cleaning up after late night bloody noses and wet dreams) to successfully execute a grisly murder. Honestly, sometimes we can’t even manage to bathe ourselves, so murder’s right out. Plus, the mess, right? And handling yet another person’s body fluids? Yeah, no. Not if we can avoid it.
So, friends. There you have it. What I very much hope is this week’s most embarrassing moment. Since I’m about to get on a plane, though, and that didn’t go so well last time, who knows? In keeping with the theme of this place and the loving, rad people who hang out here making mamas feel less alone, please feel free to share your own embarrassing moment below. Because — *ahem* –I wouldn’t hate hearing if you’re sometimes a giant dork, too.