I Missed You. What Did You Bring Me?
These are the first words I usually hear from my children upon returning from a business trip as per instructions outlined in chapter twelve of The Childhood Manual for Annoying One’s Parent. The only reason I didn’t hear those words first this time was purely accidental, and, I mean that literally.
Following a four and a half hour journey, I was called to the school to pick The Girl up from after-school programs early on Friday due to an accident. She wasn’t injured in the accident; she inadvertently caused it when one of the fifth grade boys, who was sprinting around the classroom, tripped over her foot. The boy fell into the doorjamb headfirst and the resulting gash required fourteen stitches to repair. The accompanying blood and gore was the topic of conversation among the after-schoolers, I assure you.
Which didn’t much impress The Girl who was beside herself with guilt although it was, as the teacher, the ambulance crew, her father, the kid’s parents and the damn kid himself, assured her repeatedly, an accident and not in any way her fault. Nonetheless, she was well on her way to making herself sick from crying by the time Hugh called me on my cell phone.
It just happened that I had pulled into our garage moments earlier. I had been looking forward to an undisturbed hour in which I could unpack and decompress before retrieving my offspring but alas, it was not to be. Instead, I raced to the school to console my daughter who wanted nothing more than to just go home, already.
Which, we did.
The rest of the weekend was thankfully less eventful.
Saturday morning, I got up early to get the Man-Cub ready for our community’s annual cancer walk which he was attending with Emily. I usually participate in the walk but, The Girl was scheduled to attend two birthday parties that day and I still had shopping to do, so I was grateful to Emily for taking the Cub.
The rest of the day was really just a blur of car-pooling. The Girl was delivered to the first party, then picked up and delivered to the second party which was a sleep-over. Groceries were purchased. The Man-Cub was picked up and, later that evening, Hugh and I drove the three of us to the theater to see The Guardian or, as I kept referring to it, An Officer and a Gentleman, The Water Version. Not to imply that it wasn’t a good movie; it was. I just kept expecting Ashton Kutcher to start wailing “I’ve got nowhere else to goooo!” ala Richard Gere, at any second.
Sunday was a nice quiet day. I caught up on our laundry, framed the photos that I will be entering in the annual photo contest this weekend and made dinner from a recipe in Rachael Ray’s 365: No Repeats-A Year of Deliciously Different Dinners. It was recipe number 223, Bacon wrapped steaks with mushroom, onion and Gouda stuffed potatoes. Hugh raved about the steaks because he is a remorseless carnivore. I personally loved the potatoes and will make them again before I make the steaks. I am less carnivore than, um…poultry-vore.
Also, Gouda is fun to say.
In fact, the next time the children ask what I brought home for them; Gouda shall be my answer.
They'll never see that coming.
I will have to try the gouda potatoes, I love gouda and yes, fun to say.ReplyDelete
I love opi too.