Tuesday, June 18, 2013

This is why she’s only my Probationary Sidekick.

  Good  morning! This shiz-nit? Is becoming a habit! From now on, I am swearing off bathing on days the Offspring’s Grandpa comes for a visit because it’s just too traumatic.

  No, I didn’t end up trapped in the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel on my head, and covered in nice-smelling lotion like last time. It was more like that game in the park where some guy sets up a card table with three cups and one squishy, red ball. The one where he shows you the ball, hides it under a cup, then moves them all around while you keep your eye glued to the cup with the ball, only to discover you’re wrong because the shit-head didn’t really put the ball under the cup, but palmed it instead and it’s a TOTAL scam.

  Yeah. THAT. Only I’m not sure if I was the cup and the shower was the ball or vice versa. Or neither. I don’t know, but it sucked.

The Girl- “I woke-up The Boy and told him it’s his turn in the shower.”

Me- “Good, ‘cause I want to shower before Grandpa gets here. I’ll jump in after The Boy’s done, before The Oldest’s turn.

15 minutes later…

Me- “Screw it! The Boy had his chance. I’m goin’ next.” I grabbed my stuff from the traditional back-of-the-chair staging area and turned around just in time to see The Boy slide into the bathroom like the slimy little bath-blocker he officially became as soon as I proclaimed “I call next!

  But, being the observant, caring Mother I am, I noticed the hot-water-thief had mis-matched, holey socks in his hand as the door slammed shut in my face (and I may or may not have been yelling,I CALLED NEXT!”)

  To pass the time until it was my turn (as in, “As soon as you get out, it’s my turn, you dirty shower-stealer!“) I decided I would pair-up the socks in the much-dreaded Sock Basket.

  You see, if laundry is my Nemesis, then socks are its evil Henchmen. And they live in the Henchmen’s dorm, the Sock Basket. Which is where I throw any and all socks passing through my laundry-hating hands.

  Then once a month (on a good month) I dump EVERYTHING on the bed and pair up the unclaimed foot coverings, mumbling under my breath the entire time. (The mumbling is necessary in order for my family to truly understand how much I love them. How much? Enough to battle the evil Henchmen, THAT’S how much!)

  Why did I go from bath-blocking to battling evil sock Henchmen? Because while I was busy mumbling and pairing, The Oldest emerged from his bedroom-cave  and line-jumped into the damn shower.

  And where was The Girl this whole time? Was she fulfilling her duty as my Probationary Sidekick and guarding my spot in line? Oh no! She was sitting idly by and watching the shouty proceedings, laughing all the while at my smelly angst. (And this would be why she shall remain “Probationary” a little longer.)

  This is also Reason #2 for me being on the prowl for ways to get a little even-sy. What’s Reason #1?


  I may or may not have been dancing Gangnam Style while prepping the Father’s Day evening meal. (OK, I TOTALLY WAS!) And she snapped a picture and posted it on her Facebook thing.

  But, on he bright side? At least she hasn’t figured out how to operate the video feature on her phone yet.

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