Making Small Town Look Good.
It was my understanding that being a Stay-At-Home/Work-At-Home Mom would mean my schedule would be less full.
I was wrong. Again. Someday I’m going to get used to the feeling of being completely misguided in my assumptions. Can you see that blurred list on the left hand side? Why doesn’t it ever get smaller? I am constantly crossing things off of it and yet it is ALWAYS the same length. This is mildly discouraging.
She fishes like a pro, isn’t afraid of bugs and doesn’t understand that there are magical places where people drive giant trucks, show up at your house and TAKE YOUR GARBAGE AWAY.
Okay. She’s a lot country.
She ran into the house, hair flying, tears streaming.
“Mama!” She wailed, “I lost my lunch box!”
“No,” I replied, “You didn’t.”
“Yes I DID.”
“Oka-ay… What makes you think you lost your lunch box?”
“I put it in front of Mrs. K’s class before school and then when I went back to get it, IT WAS GONE.” She explained as giant alligator tears rolled across her cheeks.
“You didn’t put it in front of Mrs. K’s class because not twenty minutes before you got home, I found it on the dining room table and put it away.”
“NO. I remember taking it on the bus and now it’s gone!” She insisted.
“Maybe you are remembering a different day when you didn’t forget your lunch box on the table?”
“No I am not.”
“Are saying that I imagined taking your lunch box off the table, throwing away the warm sandwich and putting it back into the cupboard? Yes, you are. I can see it in your face. Why don’t you go look in the cabinet and see for yourself.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Wait- What? You don’t want to? You would rather that your lunch box be gone than have it be in the cabinet safe and sound?”
“BUT I REMEMBER TAKING IT ON THE BUS!!”
Her older sister runs to the cabinet, takes out the lunch box and holds it out for her to see. “Look! It’s here.”
“NO.” She says, covering her eyes and turning her head away from the traitorous lunch box that wouldn’t stay lost.
Twenty minutes later…
“Why are you still pouting, My Little Mary Sunshine?” I asked.
“Because I remember taking it on the bus…” She replied, still refusing to look at the lunch box sitting in front of her.
