Last weekend was my imp's 10th birthday. Saturday. Ten years ago, he arrived at the world pissed off and screaming--which was a delightful sound, considering he was eight weeks early, and they weren't sure his lungs would be developed enough by that point to scream.
His feet were literally the length of my thumb: about an inch and a half.
Thursday evening, he came to me and showed me that his toes had no room in his shoes, so I got him a bigger pair Friday morning when I did groceries. I wear kids' size 3 in shoes. He now wears youth size 5.
From feet the size of my thumb, to feet bigger than mine in ten years.
So, Saturday morning, we went to his paternal grandparents' house for his birthday dinner (lasagna, Italian bread, spice cake, and ice cream). And presents from them (an old tackle box spray painted silver that will be perfect for storing Hot Wheels, and a couple of books he already loves).
And Sunday, we grabbed a rotisserie chicken, roasted potatoes, and a salad from Sam's Club ($16.98 to feed four adults and two kids!), and went up to my mom's after they'd gotten back from church. The kids each had a chicken leg and my sister made mac'n'cheese. And another spice cake (with rye flour, which I could eat) and cream cheese frosting. He ate half the three inch square piece of cake they cut. I ate my piece, then the other half of his.
The boy made out like a bandit, where food's concerned.
I spent yesterday exhausted, and chair-bound. Didn't get anything done, because my brain wouldn't work any better than my body would (and my body said "newp--you're sitting back down as soon as you've gotten your drink/gone to the bathroom/grabbed a snack-type lunch, because you did too much this past weekend").
Felt a little better when I woke up this morning...and then the kids happened.
I got them chased around through morning routines, and...couldn't find my keys. They'd gotten put back in the wrong pocket of my purse.
Found keys. Got the kids out and into the...no, they refused to get into the car. "Oh, Mom, it smells awful!"
Got to the car, and found out they weren't exaggerating. Pixie was gagging, imp had hand over nose and mouth, and both were backing away from the open doors. Because it smelled like something had died in the car.
Got the windows down, and got the kids in the car regardless, and got them dropped off at school. Got home. Sorted through the detritus in the front floorboard (not much), then the back (about six inches per side).
There was nothing dead in the car. There were, however, jackets that they'd played in the rain in, then left wadded down in the floorboards. They'd soured. To the point that they smelled like something had died in the car.
On the plus side, I got the car mostly cleaned out. However. I think that may have been my limit of "I can do that chore" for today. And it finished off a half-full trash bag of kids' graded school worksheets picked up over the last week or so.
Thank goodness taco casserole is easy to throw together. And that the kids will help with that.
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