Rookie Mistake
I should have known better. Why didn’t I know better? It’s such a rookie mom mistake. I made Bobby a toaster strudel this morning for breakfast because that’s what he asked for. But of course once I brought it out to him, that wasn’t what he wanted. Typical. I brought him cereal and a couple of donut holes. Happy as a lark.
Also typical, we’re running about 5 hours late and I’m frantically trying to pull it all the together to get out the door in time, with teeth brushed, hair combed, bags packed, and all appropriate bodies in tow. We’re down to the wire and it’s literally time to be heading out the door. Bobby’s toaster strudel has been sitting there for an hour.
As I’m heading out the door to pull my car out of the garage, I grab the toaster strudel and take a bite. Go start the car. Come back in and continue eating the neglected toaster strudel.
The whole time I’m barking out, “Get your shoes on! Grab your sweatshirt! Let’s go!”
I have one bite left.
I grab Bobby’s flip flops from the front porch. Yes, I already told him to get them on. He didn’t. Don’t judge.
As I’m slipping them on his feet and have my one bite of toaster strudel left, Bobby notices I’m eating it and immediately starts bawling, sobbing that I ate his toaster strudel and he wants it. Not the one remaining bite of course, but his own new one. Even though he rejected it in the first place, now that I have it, he needs one.
I’m going to have to start eating in the bathroom. Rapidly.
Also typical, we’re running about 5 hours late and I’m frantically trying to pull it all the together to get out the door in time, with teeth brushed, hair combed, bags packed, and all appropriate bodies in tow. We’re down to the wire and it’s literally time to be heading out the door. Bobby’s toaster strudel has been sitting there for an hour.
As I’m heading out the door to pull my car out of the garage, I grab the toaster strudel and take a bite. Go start the car. Come back in and continue eating the neglected toaster strudel.
The whole time I’m barking out, “Get your shoes on! Grab your sweatshirt! Let’s go!”
I have one bite left.
I grab Bobby’s flip flops from the front porch. Yes, I already told him to get them on. He didn’t. Don’t judge.
As I’m slipping them on his feet and have my one bite of toaster strudel left, Bobby notices I’m eating it and immediately starts bawling, sobbing that I ate his toaster strudel and he wants it. Not the one remaining bite of course, but his own new one. Even though he rejected it in the first place, now that I have it, he needs one.
I’m going to have to start eating in the bathroom. Rapidly.
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