This morning was “one of those mornings”. We were running late because I spent too much time working on the computer. But of course I ended up taking it out on my girls. My 5-year-old daughter has absolutely no sense of urgency. “Hurry up, we’re late.” means nothing to her.
Of course that could be because I say, “Hurry up, we’re late.” EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING.
We piled out of the minivan in the school parking lot at 9:15 (school starts promptly at 9:00) and made our way towards her classroom. At the door to the classroom, she announced that she had to go potty.
This morning was my day to volunteer at my son’s school, and I had to get my 2-year-old to a friend’s house and then myself over to his school by 9:50. We didn’t have time for a potty detour. I wanted to snap, “Just hold it. You’ll be fine.” But teachers frown on that sort of thing, so I impatiently walked her to the bathroom.
There we found quite a ruckus. I certainly don’t take pleasure in someone else’s trials, but sometimes
it’s good to know that someone else is having a worse day than you are. As my daughter went into another stall to do her business, my eyes met the tired eyes of another mom, who was fighting with her pre-school aged daughter to use the potty while she tried to contain her 9-month-old son who was crawling around on the bathroom floor. There was really nothing I could do to help her, but I sent her a sympathetic glance and tried to get my own herd out of the bathroom as quickly as possible.
After dropping my 2-year-old off at my friend’s, I made my way to my son’s school, where, upon arrival, I was informed that he was having another of his stomach attacks.
Is it a full moon tonight? Is this Monday? What else could go wrong today?
When I got to his classroom, he seemed to be managing alright, so I encouraged him to try to stick it out, which he did. After my stint as a teacher’s aid, I made my way back to preschool, picked up my daughter, and stopped at Burger King on the way to my friend’s house.
I meant to order a grilled chicken salad, but what my mouth said was “Tender Crisp Chicken Sandwich please”. I have no idea how that happened, and I take absolutely no responsibility.
After a quick visit and a few bites of my chicken sandwich, the girls and I stopped by the grocery store since I thought it might be nice to have something other than frozen blueberries to serve my family for dinner. The husband likes that.
We made it through the store uneventfully, and as I unloaded the groceries at home I came across the Family Size Kraft Macaroni and
Chemical Cheese I bought to accompany our dinner tonight. And it occurred to me that EVERYTHING in America is super-sized these days. Since when does a family of five need a “family size” mac-and-cheese?
When I was growing up, a regular sized box of mac-and-cheese was quite sufficient for our family of four, and I do believe I recall having leftovers on most occasions. Did my mom make two boxes, or did we survive on one box? I really think it was just one box. Are they putting less in the boxes? Or are Americans just more gluttonous than we used to be? I’m afraid it’s the latter.
And there you have it, my deep thought for the day.