There are certain things I should not be allowed to do while jet lagged. Like going to Costco. While it isn’t necessarily stressful, it also is not on the list of things I’m particularly good at (sadly, that list grows daily). As the kids can attest, each time I go (and I really do mean EACH), I manage to drop a box of either strawberries or tomatoes in: a) the store, b) the parking lot, or c) my driveway. This week I managed to drop something in all three places.
I also should not be allowed to drive, or park. This morning I left the house, forgetting about the roof box atop the minivan (there to get seven people plus luggage home from the ariport on Sunday). I drove into the parking garage of the kids’ pediatrician and promptly got stuck under a low hanging pipe. Took me for-bloody-ever to wedge the car out of the garage. One woman told me she’d done the same thing with her pickup last year (she kind of lost me at pickup) and tried to help coach me. An elderly couple gave me the stink eye. Really? In seventy-plus years you’ve never screwed up? I called M who said, “Come on!” as if any of this were my fault. But I was feeling benevolent and understanding because I said nothing. I especially did not say: “Come on? Whose job is it to remove the bloody box from the car?”
My grumpiness passed when I was in the doctor’s officer with the boys for their annual check ups and the nurse gave them cups to pee in. Bennett took one look at the specimen cup and said, “Pee in a cup? For real? I’m an expert!”
Don’t I know it.
The boys competed to see who could “win” the eye and ear exams. Those two can turn just about anything into a competitive sport.
We’re home now. I have to go out this evening. The kids are planning a house party, which sends fear running through me. Bennett walked into my office with a bowl of confetti. Efram walked in and asked if he could put rocks in the oven. Francie asked if I had anything they could use as a bar. I’m certain Fi will march in here and asked for something she can use to pole dance. She saw her first thong bikini in France and has taken up walking around the house with her underwear wedged in her butt cheeks. It’s really quite charming. Four weeks in France and that’s what she brings back.
They can do what they want tonight. They got me up at 2 AM and I am positive I’ll be too tired to notice. I suppose I should add PARENTING OF ANY SORT to the list of things I ought not to do while jet-lagged…