children, humor, mommyhood

Job Hazard

I decided to keep Full Speed home again (much to the detriment of my own personal sanity as T.Puzzle was home, too). Full Speed still had a temp in the middle of the night and didn’t eat much breakfast. Not much I could do except prepare myself for a day of fighting, chaos and bickering.

Mid-morning I decide that Full Speed is well enough to ride in the truck with his brother so I can pick up our newly upholstered barstools. Several months back, in an attempt to make my life easier, Mad Dog had ordered the barstools on-line. They were absolutely perfect in terms of matching our décor, the only limitation was that the cushions were a creamy, cloth white. Before I even write it you know it was not a good fit for two boys. In a matter of days, even though I had diligently stain-guarded them, they were a road-map of every food the boys ate. They looked gross so it was a great thing that they were now recovered in a sturdy, faux-leather vinyl.

When me and the boys arrive at the upholstery place, I pull the truck around back, put the boys’ windows down and open the rear hatch.

“Full Speed, I’m going to run inside to grab the stools. I’ll only be a couple minutes,” I say.

I can already see the fear playing at the corners of his eyes. “Who’s going to keep an eye on me and T.Puzzle? I don’t want you to leave us alone!”

“You’ll be here with your brother and I’ll be right around the corner.” End of discussion and I head into the building (it’s attached to a house and we are in the driveway, I can still see the truck at all times so I know they will be safe).

Before I have a chance to do anything, Full Speed starts a complete meltdown. Me and the owner rush to the truck.

“I thought, in theory, it would be easier for everyone if they stayed put. I didn’t know what kind of trouble they would get into if I brought them inside,” I explain.

“Oh, I completely understand,” she says. The way she says it makes me think she might understand my plight more than the average person.

“Let me guess, are you the mother of boys?” I ask.

“They are grown men now but I remember how hard it was. And, boys, let me tell you are something else.” She has a bit of a chuckle hidden in her words.

“Well it’s nice to talk to someone who has come through the other side of raising boys and seems to be doing okay.”

“I don’t know about that, look at my hair.” I glance at her hair and it is pure snow-white. Hazard of the job I suppose.

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