The professor abandoned us on Saturday. To go and gamble away our life savings for a good cause. That may be a slight exaggeration. It is not, however, an exaggeration to say he left me alone with three children on a Saturday night. Without any eggs or milk in the fridge. Which means I couldn’t even make myself a faux-latte at home. And I couldn’t bake. Anything. I wracked my brain trying to come up with some kind of option for dessert. But, when you have no chocolate chips and no fruit of any kind. And no eggs. You don’t have a lot in the way of sweet options. Besides eating a cupful of whipped cream. Or a bowl full of dry Golden Grahams.
Much as I yearned for something delicious, I had zero desire to take the boys to the grocery store after six o’clock at night. It just seemed like a recipe for disaster.
I concluded that some kind of outing would be necessary for my continued sanity, so I helped them get ready. Their outfits could not have been more spectacular. The Gort wore Buzz Lightyear pajama pants and a mismatched top with a ‘regular’ shirt underneath. Puffy vest. Snow boots. His newest baseball cap. And….earphones?
The Hen wore a ‘regular’ shirt with pajama pants featuring palm trees. And a puffy vest. And too-big tennis shoes.
I piled them into the van and headed….for the Starbucks drive-thru. On the way there the Gort shared his latest musical composition – a song he’d just made up about ghosts. Even though he dutifully sang it twice, I couldn’t really tell what was going on.
But the lyrics I managed to hear, I loved. ‘Wouldn’t it be chilly with no skin….on.’
Take that, Elton John.
After picking up a tall latte and slice of holiday gingerbread, we headed home. Just me and my three boys driving in our awesome minivan on a Saturday night. I’ve never been one for going out on the weekends, but this may have officially pushed me into middle-aged mom territory. If I wasn’t there already.
When we got home we spent some time outside ‘looking at shadows’. Which basically involved the older boys running up and down the path leading to our front door until I got cold and told them we had to go inside.
Then we watched Tom and Jerry on my bed.
‘Is that the FDI Morning?’ The Gort inquired when the Warner Bros. logo popped up on the screen. ‘You mean FBI Warning?’ I clarified, even though it wasn’t that. ‘Yeah, I mean the FDI Morning.’
I don’t really know which is better – the animated cat and mouse antics, or watching the boys laugh hysterically about the antics. Even if I had to be parental and periodically remind them that putting matches in a cat’s claws and lighting them, is a really bad idea. Ditto for playing with dynamite.
The professor came home poorer than when he’d left.