Yesterday I dropped Caroline off at school and had some really important plans for the day. Plans that involved stopping at Starbucks to get the Peppermint Mocha monkey off my back and then coming home to catch up on Project Runway. Since my self-imposed Target ban, my days are just not as full.
As soon as I got home, the phone rang. It was my friend E. and, long story short, I ended up with a bundle of three month old baby girl in pink fleece at my house for the morning and early afternoon. It was grueling having to smell her baby smell and kiss her little baby fat cheeks while she looked at me like LADY, YOU NEED TO BACK OFF WITH YOUR CRAZY.
I got to hold her in my arms while she slept, I got to give her a bottle, and I got to watch her kick her little baby legs while she cooed and grinned at me. And then my ovaries and my heart burst from too much baby joy and sweetness.
Since I was watching the baby, I asked Gulley if she would go pick up Caroline from school. Then, after E. picked up her bundle of all that is good in the world, I called Gulley to tell her I was on the way to her house to get Caroline. She told me that when she picked Caroline up at school, the teacher informed her that Caroline had not had a good day. She talked constantly, talked back to the teacher and, eventually, got sent to the School Director’s office.
Oh my.
What happened to my own little bundle of pink fleece goodness and sweetness?
Gulley asked Caroline what happened and she said, “Well Guwwey, here’s the story. I talked and talked and talked and talked and talked….” She said Caroline must have said “and talked” about 152 times.
I know Caroline wasn’t exaggerating about all the talking with the talking and more talking because I live with her. I am well aware of all the talking. I stay up way too late at night to just get a break from ALL THE TALKING.
We got in the car and headed home. I asked her what happened at school. She said, “Well, there was a little bit of trouble…” (yes, I think that “little bit” is named Caroline) and then proceeded to give me the rundown of her day of disobedience. I told her, “When your teacher tells you to be quiet you need to say ‘Yes Ma’am’ and then BE QUIET”.
She said, “Well, I just get so bored. Being quiet is boring.”
I feel you, sister. You come by it honestly.
In fact, I think it’s safe to say she comes from a not-so-proud heritage of less than stellar conduct grades due to the dislike of the boring by both of her parents.
And since today is my mama’s birthday, I think it’s only fair to apologize for the gray hair I must have given her over my own years of talking. And talking. And talking. And also chewing gum in class. And then talking some more.
Happy Birthday, Mom. From your daughter who never wanted to be bored.
I feel certain I have many years of payback ahead of me.