Male Pattern Blindness

Why do men have such trouble finding stuff? I can send either Scott or the MP into another room to look for something and five seconds later get the ‘Nope, not here”. I go to look and trip over the thing they were looking for whilst walking into the room.
In the mornings I am the last one up. And some days need to be ‘spoken to’ more than once. I hate mornings, always have, always will. I should work second shift if we are being completely honest – I would be WAY more productive.

Anyhoo – so Scott is up first, the MP rolls out of bed sometime after him and they chitchat in the living room while ironing clothes and eating breakfast. This conversation usually registers on my subconscious but I don’t let it disrupt my final winks too much.

This morning not only did it register but I had to engage. I hate engaging before I want to.

The MP was on the verge of a full blow hissy fit over his library book. He needed to return it today and didn’t know where it had gone. First he stated calmly he didn’t know where his library book was. Scott asked what it was about and what it looked like.

After a brief description the MP informs Scott that Grampy had said he was going to read it.

The tone he used somehow implying that Grampy moved and/or took the book home with him. Um, Grampy doesn’t take other people’s stuff. Not his gig.

This is when I can hear the tears in the MP’s voice and can tell he was on the verge of crying.
Now, as background he has already ‘lost’ a library book this year. I had to take the $4 to pay for it from his stash and send it in to school. The book eventually turned up at daycare and he got his money back so it wasn’t a total disaster.
So the prospect of losing more money is just not in his plan (especially since the Tooth Fairy left him $5 last night as part of her Memorial Day Special – the cost of teeth goes up on holidays).

As I lay in bed listening to this, I picture Scott standing behind the couch at the ironing board and the MP turned around on the couch whining to him about this.
If either of then had turned their heads 45° they would have seen the book.
Either one of them could have put their hand on it with barely a stretch.

I pull my head out from under my pillow and yell out the location of the book. All conversation stops, I hear them look over to the spot and then a huge sigh of relief from the MP.
My reward is 10 more minutes in bed and a kiss from each of them.

Happy Graduation to Me

Do you know what you get when you receive your MBA with distinction? Well if you are the Mom of the Mud Puddle you get a piñata.

And not one you pick out: you begrudgingly give up your pleas for a Tinkerbell piñata filled with British magazines in favor of one of the MP’s choosing filled with candy.

And do you know who pays for the pinata? I won’t even bother to tell you.

But that’s ok, I have my degree and he has five seconds of fun whacking the crap out of a pastel colored donkey.

Out of the Mouths of Babes (or First Graders as the case may be)

Picture the scene, a typical Thursday night, the MP, Scott, and I lined up on the couch. Probably a French Bulldog somewhere in the mix.

The MP is reclining into the cushions, one foot lazily grazing the coffee table, cup of water in hand. It was like Frank Sinatra had sauntered in and planted himself down for a cocktail and a chitchat. Ringa-ding-ding.

As we watched “Survivor” (ok, I watched, they were kibitzing) a conversation ensued about being stung by a hornet or a wasp. Scott states he has been and I state I never was.

Scott finds this hard to believe and then informs the MP that he WILL be stung at some point in his life because that is the curse of boys: to be stung by flying insects.

I argue that it isn’t the curse of ALL boys just the ones who deem it necessary to harass wasps and hornets by throwing rocks at their nest or poking it with a stick.

Scott says that ALL boys do that and the MP is bound to one day.

At which point I state that the MP probably would NOT do that as he is a. afraid of flying insects that sting and b. not prone to that kind of punk like behavior.

To which Scott replies: Neither was I but I did it.

To which I retort “aren’t you the one that threw a Tonka truck out of a tree to prove it wasn’t indestructible and didn’t that in fact require premeditation on your part?”

The MP chimes in (quietly listening in to our friendly, if not spirited, banter up until this point) and says “But I DO mediate!!”

Um, ok. Good to know. Hopeful the wasps will sense his "Zen like" being and fly on to a less mellow fellow.