Anyone with kids knows that the battle of the
“Put Things Away”
game is never-ending. Or a husband. Who leaves socks all over the floor. Or rubber bands. Huh? I don't know…So, when push comes to shove, I like to play pranks. Not only to prove a point; But, to open the eyeballs of said minor. And get them to PUT. THEIR. CRAP. AWAY. Let the games begin! The game is quite similar to jingling keys in front of a toddler to distract the tyke away from a hot stove. Just a tad more manipulative. Or passive aggressive. Actually, it's more like the- mommy's flipped her lid -game. We need sedatives - STAT. Who's doing all that sceaming? Oh. It's me. Oopsie. My bad.
When I Costco, I typically buy the snack pack boxes. You know the ones, miniature bags of snack garbage the kids can just grab and go. Welp, I accidentally bought the Goldfish snacks that were in the oversized large bags instead the last time. Ah, I just love the idea of grubby little hands all inside the bag of chips everyone communally is going to eat from… *sarcasm. I’ll pour them out into a bowl. Or cut the bag down to the munchies so my hand doesn’t have to touch the greasy insides of it. It’s the O.C.D. And it’s quirky. So hush. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Ironic twist of events? Not really. I tend to get sidetracked. Case in point: a mere two sentences ago. Anyway, Sir Interuptor-patomus…In Costco. And other places. In every place actually. Not just in Costco. I like butterflies. Chasing butterflies with glitter is always fun.
One would assume, when one is done using any item in the house, one would proceed to return said item to its original place. Especially food. Neat and tidy. Packaging closed and sealed up. Freshness bound. Organized. Hell, I’ll take the category, “Thrown in the Cabinet by a Timberwolf” for the WIN, Pat! As long as it was put back near its resting spot. It’s not TOO much to ask. Really.
So imagine my not-so-surprise when I find the large open Goldfish bag on the coffee table, not put away. I digress, at least it was rolled up. I exhale a huge sigh and head for the bag. Grab the bag. Pick up the bag. And the fucking Goldfish go spewing all over my living room floor. Out of the bag. Of course they did. On a carpet that which, was not, vacuumed. Of course it wasn’t. Which I had previously requested be done as well. And wasn’t executed. BAH!
Tap. Tap. Tap. I’ll show you, you little monster you. I scoop up all the little yellow crackers and put them -bit by bit- back into the plastic sack. Hair. Debris… and all. Roll the bitch back up. And shove it in the pantry. Ha! Right up front. And I wait. Patience is a virtue. And wait. Something about a dish best served cold? Criminy, and I wait some more. What the hell. I freaking forgot about it. Well, a month goes by and the boy hasn’t said anything about the dirty food satchel. Hmmm.. maybe he’s not eating them. Nope. He’s been eating them because the bag moves around the pantry space every few days. Finally, last week, I ask him if he wants a snack, and I mention all available crunchy nibbles to choose from and my son says, “I haven’t really been eating the Goldfish because everytime I do I keep getting hair and stuff from inside the bag. I think we should write them a letter about it.” And there it was. The moment I’d been waiting for…
So, you have been eating them huh? Yeah. And I really think we need to write an onion letter to the company. Get some free – Let me stop you right there my young, darling consumer rights activist. You know how I’m always asking you to to put shit away? Uh huh. Well, one day, over a month ago… You didn’t put these fishies away. I always put them away. No. You don’t. Let me finish. And I picked them up and well… His face went from interest in my storytelling to obvious disgust. “Mom. I’ve been eating hair!” Yeah, that… well, here’s the kicker. You’re going to love this part. I also asked you to vaccum that week too. And well, you didn’t do that either. So, if you think about it. Had you swept the floor. There wouldn’t have been debris in your hairy Goldfish. Mom! You’re so gross! Yes. Yes, I am.
Moral of the story. He puts stuff away now. Wipes down my kitchen countertops. And has since learned how to use a mop.
Ah, victory.
Before I could open a yawn to the day, my adorable child brought me coffee and amaretti’s in bed. Even the boy knows that without coffee, I am a miserable old cow. But, that wasn’t the end of it, he also made poached eggs and ham. I was in heaven. This is usually me on the other end of the kitchen delivery and this morning I was awakened to a blessed breakfast with a perfectly cooked egg, I might add. I knew this little munchkin could cook. Ok, maybe he’s not a little one anymore -the monster is pushing 6’1- but regardless, the monkey has been pretending to not know how to cook! I bit my tongue. Normally, my sarcasm and bratty tone would have commenced but I was determined to enjoy all this pampery. Please clean up. Please clean up. Please clean up.