So I suddenly and unexpectedly found myself with the afternoon off. Hooray, I said (I’m pretty sure all-caps were employed as well), I totally needed an afternoon off, if by “off” you mean “doing laundry, replying to work emails, cleaning the house and dealing with a two and a half year old who refuses to eat.” Because, yes!
And the kid, he’s such the icing on the proverbial two year old cake. He wanted a granola bar. I suggested that mac and cheese might be more appropriate for lunch. He SCREAMED NONSTOP FOR 38 MINUTES. (Yes, I timed it.) Then took a break. Then saw me eating my mac and cheese and screamed some more. Then – finally – agreed to a pb&j…of which he consumed three bites. And then asked for a granola bar.
This is comedy gold, people.
I had grandiose dreams of taking the kid to the park, having one of those idyllic mom and baby experiences that one sees in magazines and commercials for Happy Meals, but now I’m exhausted, and cranky, and full of angst, and any park-going experience would resemble one of those other commercials, the ones involving Calgon and pleas to be taken away.
So instead I’m going to fold laundry and wish I had some vodka in the freezer while the kid (apparently) empties out every single bloody toy bin in the living room.
(Oh, what, you were expecting something funnier than this? Pfft.)