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I’m going to call CPS on myself

It rained again today – a fact that pleases us dry desert dwellers to no end. I had the windows and front door open to let in the cool, clean smelling air.  The temperature had dropped from around 106 degrees to 78 and it was simply beautiful. Sassy and The Bandit wanted to go outside to play in the rain and, since it wasn’t raining really hard, I let them.

That was one of the best things about summer when I was a kid growing up in the desert.  When the rain would finally come relieving us all of the stiffling summer heat, playing outside in the soothing rain with the smell of creasote cooling everything off.

I was making dinner (spaghetti don’t you know) and talking to Kelli on the phone about the edits that need to be made to Book 2. At one point, The Bandit came in and asked if he could have my umbrella out of the car.  I told him no because he would just break it and I need the stupid thing for when the rain is torential.

While Kelli and I mulled over how to fix this and that issue in the story, I heard my car alarm chirping on and off.  I was busy so I didn’t do anything about it at the time.

This part feels like I’m taking a crazy left turn into story Tourettes but I’m not.  Even though Ava has had me on this crazy diet for the last three days, she decided that tomorrow would be a great time for a dessert pot luck at work. I whole heartedly agree.  What could be better, right? I found a really great recipe for s’mores cupcakes and everyone unanimously voted I make them for the party. I knew I would need to go to the store for some of the ingredients.  For example, molassas and buttermilk.  Who has that in the house all the time?

After the kids were put to bed, I gathered up my list and told My Honey I was off to the store. Only, my keys weren’t in my bag. Or on the table. Or on the floor. Or behind the couch. And I remembered the alarm chirping on and off while I made dinner.  I glanced around and the umbrella wasn’t around either. I gathered My Honey and two flashlights and we headed out to the front yard to search in the dark puddles for the stupid keys. They weren’t in the driveway, in the street, in the mailbox (we’ve found things there before), in the yard or under the boat.

My Honey suggested we wake The Bandit up and ask him.  It seemed like a relatively good idea. I was hoping that if he was half asleep he’d just tell us their location instead of getting cagey and thinking up lies like he would if he was awake. Only we couldn’t get the kid to wake up.  He laid there like a dead person even with us turning the lights on and shining flashlights at him. I took the covers off and shook him, saying his name louder and louder. I pinched his nose closed. Nothing. He never did open his eyes, but he finally roused enough to form words.

“Where are my car keys?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are my car keys?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dude, where are my car keys.  I’m really gonna need those.”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is the umbrella you were using?”

“I put it over something.”

Over something? “Over what?”

“I don’t know.”

This theme went on for quite some time with varying degrees of hysteria and frustration in my voice. I finally got mad and stormed off with the flashlight to search in a few more places. My Honey came out to the car where I was peering under and between all the seats.

“I didn’t get anything out of him. I even demanded, ‘Where are the codes for the Russian nuclear missles?’ but all he said was, ‘I don’t know’.”

Ha ha ha. He’s a funny man but he wasn’t helping.

It was now 10:00 and I still hadn’t been to the store yet. I took My Honey’s keys and stormed off to the store in a fit. I talked to Kelli again on the way and told her my tale of woe. Of course, she laughed at me. She also made the appropriate noises of sympathy, but there was still laughing. I got all my ingredients and headed home. I toted my bags through to the kitchen and out of the tiniest flicker of my eye, I caught a glimmer of my keys poking out of a hidden cubbie in a step stool. A freakin step stool. I could kill him, honestly.

At 10:15 I started on the cupcakes and thought to myself that I should check the status on cupcakes liners. I knew at one time I had a bunch of them. In the recesses of the pantry, I found said cupcake liners. Each and every one of them was ruined. The boy had filled them all with chocolate syrup and cake sprinkles.

At what point does a normal person throw up their hands and just decide to visit a bakery on the way to work in the morning? I blame my mother.

So at 10:30 I was back on the road to the grocery store for more cupcake liners. Kelli texed me the following:

I know lots of other little boys and none of them do this shit. You either have a genius or a sociopath.

I hope the jury is kind.

2 Responses to I’m going to call CPS on myself

  • Judie says:

    What’s this crap about CPS?? If today’s rules had been in effect when Jennifer and Jeff were growing up, they would have been put in foster care. I was not a cupcake mom, or a soccer mom, or a room mother. I never beat them, though, and they always had clean socks, even if they didn’t match. I can honestly say, however, that neither of them would have DARED get my keys to fetch an umbrella out of the car. O.k., so we each had our own umbrella, so that was never an issue.

    I guess I didn’t really do all that badly, though. They all grew up to be smart, funny, artistic, and creative. None of them has a taste for cupcakes.

  • Amylynn says:

    Good to see you here, Judie! Of course I kid, and there’s no actual beating of the children – although….. It’s really a darned good thing he’s cute.

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