So this year has been as busy as ever, and as life continues on, my routine never stops. At least this year has not contained any casts, major doctor’s visits, or catastrophes, unless you count broken dishwashers. Or a broken passenger side window, which leaks when it rains and your husband puts a spare diaper around the handle of the leak and you drive around with a diaper at your passenger window (I don’t embarrass easily but this was a new low). The boys are in school, I am working, Hubs is working and the clock is wheelie-ing its way around the dial.
Until I get the text from a preschool worker which states, “We don’t know where the honeycomb pattern came from”. What?? What honeycomb pattern? Oh, well, the honeycomb pattern that is on the buttocks of my preschooler, Caboose. Honeycomb pattern…what the heck. It was perfectly shaped; I could have played tic-tac-toe on it. I couldn’t touch it or feel it, he never cried with it. It was just this pattern on both cheeks that looked just like a beehive should. Weatherman even asked if bees were going to fly out of Caboose’s butt. Finally, about three days of looking everywhere I could think of that would have a honeycomb pattern that would have come into contact with Caboose’s bottom, Hubs comes out of the bathroom with a sheepish look on his face and tells me he has found the culprit. See, Hubs has icewater flowing through his veins and must have continuous heat at all times surrounding him. He had recently bought a new heater, which had a HONEYCOMB pattern on it and since Hubs has been bathing Caboose for me lately in the shower, poor Caboose backed into this heater and caused this burn to occur. Caboose never cried or complained, until the burn started to itch. Thank God. Because what the hell?
Yes, our week wasn’t over. We do a small group from our church at our house most Saturday nights, which involves some terrific couples and their children, near our kids’ ages. Last Saturday night, Caboose pushed a toy down the stairs, causing a loud noise to ensue. I am sitting at our kitchen table, and I hear this High-pitched voice say “What the hell? What the hell?” For those who have seen the movie The Christmas Story, where the lady has just been informed about her son’s filthy language, that’s what I felt like. I looked at one of the men and said “Did I just hear…” and he said “Yes, Yes, you did.” Yep, it was a tough week for Monkey. This is son number two. He has been pushing boundaries for a while but now he knows just where mine are. My boundary is right before crap and right after heck.
So the next time some weird pattern appears on your child’s body, think appliances, not aliens. And the next time your child curses in public, pretend like he’s not yours. And if you can’t deny that he belongs to you, just take a deep breath, and tell everyone that his dad let him watch too much tv last week.