Walking to school and am harrassed, by 9 year old son, re my lack of RSVPing to a birthday party he’s been invited to and his friend keeps asking if he’s going (am most surprised Monkey Boy just hasn’t answered yes, anyway, without first showing me the invite) and “you have to ring his mum and let her know!”
“What party? When?” I enquire.
He looks at me icredulously, “Tomorrow!”
Right. Goodo then, because I’ve just been sitting around for days just wanting something to do.
“Right, goodo,” I reply. “And where is the invite?” because experience has shown me that he can’t necessarily be trusted with information pertaining to dates and the like.
More incredulity. “In my bag!” he intones as he scrambles through it’s depths, retreives a scrap of paper and says “I got it last week.”
Of course you did I mumble to myself.
The party is definitely tomorrow, there is an RSVP date and phone number on it and I get to spend the day remembering to call the number to state he’ll be attending and summoning up the strength to take him shopping after school to purchase present.
Of course, I could just say “no” on the grounds that it pisses me off that I get bugger all notice, but then that would mean I would have to think of something that we could do tomorrow afternoon that appeased both him and Godzilla. Given it is their lot in life to disagree with the other, regardless of the suggestion made, I’d rather do the shopping for present after school thing than end up in screaming rage tomorrow afternoon.
Arrive home, remember to make phone call, have several MUGs of coffee and a several good talkings to myself, to remind me that I can survive the shopping thing.
Grumpy walks to school with me to collect children, and decides he needs new shoelaces, and wants a bit more walking, thereby obliterating my plans to take just Monkey Boy. It’s all of us.
Kids, we decide, also need new shoes, and Chippie gum boots so he may jump in as many puddles as he likes and not require a change of shoes, which become so wet, they really aren’t wearable. T’is difficult to change shoes when he only owns one pair.
Present purchase is relatively painless as – thank the lord! – this child has been quite specific and selected something that cost remarkably less than $400 because his parents have refused to buy it for him. Hurrah!
Shoe shopping, on the other hand was incredibly painful, and not helped by the fact that Monkey Boy had decided that “price checking” his right eyeball would be a brilliant idea, stuffed his eyesight up for half an hour and got me in the most trouble because I loudly advised him that he was a “bloody idiot”.
Arrive home, then it’s off for dinner. Which we leave for just on time as I had several loooooong moments of increasingly revolting behaviour, seemingly as a result of a deficiency in understandings such complex instructions as “touch your brother again and I’ll break your fingers” and “enough now, stop, or you’ll lose your DS for a week!”
(The latter being a more traumatic thought than the former.)
It was only when we walked out the door, leaving him behind that he realised the seriousness of his actions, and he immediately became suitable obsequious.