We were wandering through a fun little store in Orleans, during our annual Cape Cod vacation, when I happened upon some products from Curly Girl Design. I knew I could not walk away empty handed, but was overwhelmed with the selection of things I loved. In the end, I kept my decision simple to what spoke the most and loudest to me. This is the greeting card I chose...
This hangs on the corkboard in our back hall, and makes me smile every time I pass by. However, this week I started to feel as though the time had come for me to sign the card and work on my trapeze skills. If I hadn't paused to consider the high temperatures in those big tents, or the sweat I would break into merely packing my bag, I'd have been googling the contact information for Barnum and Bailey.
The heat certainly plays a role in my tolerance level, so maybe if these conversations had taken place in cooler climates, I would be more impressed. Let's start with the dog...
Me: Do you want to go outside? (Opening door)
Me: Do you need water?
Foz: grrrrr (hides under table while continuing to grumble)
While this offense seems minor, let's keep in mind that I have to pick up his poop. Plus, it was so hot out yesterday afternoon that he tried to limit his walk to the edge of the driveway, then proceeded to walk down the street and back while forgetting to do his business. Then, on our second attempt, the dog who thought it was too hot to get to the street, dragged me all the way around the block. He is sleeping next to me now yelping away in his dreams.
How about the texts from my son the other night? He had ridden his bike to a friend's house, about a mile away, to go swimming. I had this crazy notion that he would figure out that he should be home by dark. At 9:02 I texted to say "hello?" The response time of ten minutes didn't seem bad. Then there was this...
Me: Time to head home...careful in the dark. (9:14)
Him: Hold on! (9:14)
Him: Can I have until 9:30? (9:18)
I sat and thought about this for a few minutes, as I could not figure out how he was going to get home any sooner than that.
Me: So you will be home in twelve minutes? (9:18)
Him: I'm drying off now (9:24)
I don't know exactly what time he came through the door, but it was accompanied by the announcement that he had eaten at least twenty bugs riding home. I did not feel compelled to discuss the possibility that he seemed to think he could beam himself from one place to another. Plus, I was still pondering a communication with his father from earlier in the evening.
I requested that the husband pick up the daughter from basketball on his way home from work, after asking for several promises and reassurances that he would be there by 6:00. At 6:03 a text came from my daughter asking if her father was there. (Yes, somehow this was still MY responsibility.) I told her he was supposed to be. I tried calling him twice, while also texting my daughter some reassurances. At 6:05 the husband called...
Me: Are you at the school?
Me: Do you have her?
Him: Yeah, it just took a few extra minutes because I have a rental car.
When they got home...
Me: While you may have had a different car, our daughter still looked the same.You could have yelled to her.
Him: I was kind of far away and she was hanging around near the door.
Me: Yes, exactly like she should, as opposed to wandering into the parking lot and then realizing she doesn't see her ride.
It is such a shame there wasn't some way they could have talked directly to each other or sent messages through phones or something.
In the event that I thought just everyone else was misbehaving, I was given a loud and clear message that I was not doing much right. I realized that my daughter did not seem to have many shorts in her rotation for basketball camp, so I inquired as to how many pairs she was actually wearing.
Me: I thought you wore the blue pair?
Her: They don't fit.
Me: Weren't you wearing them two weeks ago?
Me: And now they don't fit?
Her: Right...(accompanied by the glare that made me realize I had already asked one question too many.)
I grabbed a pair of nearly identical shorts from her brother's stash, and figured we were ready for morning. I am an idiot.
(15 minutes before departure time for day three of camp.)
Her: Do we have any of those dri-fit shirts? (She is dressed, mind you)
Me: Yes, there is that green Nike one, want me to go grab it?
Me: You won't wear it? Oh, because it doesn't say anything on it?
Me: Your brother has some.
She went upstairs and came back down in a larger, darker and thicker tshirt than what she had on three minutes earlier. It could have, and should have perhaps, ended here, but I was not interested in the suggestion that I had left her ill-prepared to go run around a gymnasium with several like-minded girls. I did what any irrational mother would do, and requested her presence upstairs with me. I pulled the first (never worn) dri-fit Nike t-shirt, complete with catchy phrase out of HER closet.
Me: You can't wear those?
Her: Not for this.
(Seriously? This? This being basketball camp?) I pulled out a second.
I pulled out a third, but saw that it was a v-neck again, checked the other four not plain fronted Nike shirts, but they were not dri-fit. I don't really remember what stupidity rolled off my tongue before I wandered out of her room, mumbling to myself.
I suppose I am really just a top hat and fancy striped pants away from running my own circus. It may not always appear to be the "greatest show on earth", but it's all mine. Cotton candy anyone?