Arizona Metaphor

Po sat down in my lap this evening for me to read him a bedtime story. "OUCH!" He said. "Something hurt me."

I wondered what it could be.

He looked into my lap, then stroked my leg. "That's it! Your leg feels like a cactus!"

I should have told him that it's his fault since I slave over him and his well being all day, I don't always have the time or the...well those just would have been excuses. I just laughed until I almost peed, which would have been super attractive streaming down my cacti.

Major Mommy Mistake

I don't know how two women could mess up so royally.

Po and his great buddy, B, were pumped that today was the big party. A girl from school was turning five. B's mom, E, and I were planning for weeks. We went in on a killer outfit and charm bracelet, helped the boys make cards, and coordinated everything. She'd watch Cam and her little one while I chaperoned the boys to the party. The boys were dressed to the nines, and chatted in the car the whole way there.

"Will there be cupcakes?"

"Can we have one?"

"Will so-and-so be there?"

"Can we see the gift, again?"

"I can't WAIT!"

We pulled up to the house at 12:05 p.m., just five minutes late. Some kind of record. There were no cars. Not a single one. I felt bad that perhaps no one had come to the party. We would come to the rescue. I double-checked the address on the invitation and knew we had the right house. Then my heart dropped.

I checked the date. March 21, 2012. Yesterday.

"Maybe we're the first ones here!" came an excited voice from the back seat.

I wanted to vomit. I almost cried.

"Boys, I have a bit of bad news," I struggled. "The mommies messed-up, big time, and we missed the party. It was yesterday. We thought it was today. I'm so, so, sorry."

Silence.

How could both of us have thought the party was on the same wrong day? How? Why couldn't it be tomorrow? Why weren't the boys saying anything?

"We missed the party?" I don't know who said it.

All I remember was the lump in my throat, and that the lump suddenly came out. "We're going to make our own party, and it will be even better!"

"Cool!" one of them said. The other one was crying. That one was mine.

"Po, this will rock, don't worry. Let me just make a couple of phone calls." I dropped the gift at the front door and called the party mom, tail between my legs. She was super sweet, thank goodness. I called E and broke the bad news, followed by "we're making a party, and I'm going to pick up a cake and balloons and come to your house, and we're going to make this up to the boys."

"YES WE ARE!" she agreed, "only don't stop for anything. Come straight back. I'm getting the stuff out to make brownies, and I have ice cream, and I have balloons."

I filled the boys in on the plan, and they seemed pretty happy. Po said "sounds good. I'm just really disappointed." Dagger.

We made quesadillas, and we had warm brownies with ice cream, played catch with balloons, had a stellar water balloon fight, and we played musical chairs. Many times. We even sang happy birthday to "nobody." There were lots of giggles and smiles, but E and I still felt like failures. We smiled through our tears and did the best we could. I'm pretty sure the whole ordeal was much harder on us than it was on the boys.

When we got home this afternoon, I sat down with Po on the couch. "I hope you had a lot of fun today. I know you were really disappointed that we missed the party. I'm so, so sorry for that. Sometimes even mommies make big mistakes."

He sighed and said "Mommy, stop worrying. I'm okay. I'm really okay." Man, I love that kid. Still feel guilty, but the love is starting to swallow that up.

Never Were There Smarter Gentlemen

Spring Break: The special time in my life when fourteen-year-old male and five-year-old male meet in the middle somewhere 'roud 'bout nine-year-old-male–24/7–and in-between bouts of conflict, come up with notions that make me shake my head, speculate about intelligence levels and the future of mankind, and pour myself a cocktail.

Enter today's conversation, upon which I eavesdropped:

The scene: Two nine-year-old boys, one 5'11", one 3'5". Entertaining themselves despite the fact that they are bored, hungry, and tired. Current source of entertainment: 3' foam sword. Just one (sweet).

I'll cut to the chase.

B advises, in complete seriousness and concern, "Po, you should never, never, never touch the blade of a real sword. It is extremely sharp, and if you touch it, it can cut your skin really, really bad. And there are two sides, and both can cut you, and you should never never touch the edge of a real sword."

All the while, Po is stroking the foam sword, formulating his response.

"Yeah, I KNOW! That's why I'm TOTALLY not going to be a knight when I grow up."

Me neither. Just for that reason.