I drive all day

We made it through another week. That deserves a high five or a cookie or something. Because that's where I'm living right now. Just trying to make it through the week. The children's activities are slowly killing me. I realize it's my fault that they even have activities so I guess I am slowly killing myself. Between dance, gymnastics, Cub Scouts, Girl Scouts and play dates I feel like their dance cards are pretty full.

Jake is on the men's gymnastics team now. He is a level 4 which is the bottom level but he gets to go to competitions this year. He is only level 4 because we are bad parents that are holding him back. He could do level 5 and maybe even level 6 but those require more money and more gym time so we said "you know Jake, we think level 4 is good enough!." As it is, my parents are supplementing our gymnastics fund and Jake is spending four hours a week in the gym instead of the one hour he did for the last two years.

I used to listen to parents complaining about being chauffeur's to their kids and thought "oh poor you!" You get to drive around all day listening to good music in the car and talking to your kids while you take them from here to there. That sounded wonderful to me! Because before we had kids I used to love to drive, listen to music and hear the cute things that kids said. But now, on my chauffeuring rounds, I deal with people who want to kill us in traffic and I can't hear the music playing because our cute children are either arguing or asking me which Pokemon character I think would win in a battle. I always end up picking the wrong one because I don't know a dad gum thing about Pokemon.

Anyhow, at his last gymnastics class Jake came home with a hurt pinkie toe. Although he didn't tell his dad anything about it on the ride home (yes, Mike did chauffeur duty!) apparently his little toe was severely injured because as soon as he saw me he started complaining/fake crying. So I looked at the toe, couldn't see anything different about it and his other little toe, and told him he was ok and to just get in the shower already and go to bed because the next day was picture day at school and time? It was a wastin'.

And that brings us to the next morning. School picture day. Emma woke up, ate breakfast, put on a dress and brushed her hair and was ready to go. Let's not talk about the fact that her hair was a little crazy because it had been braided the day before and we forgot to wash it that night. At least she got herself ready and was happy with the way she looked. I had already decided I wasn't buying pictures this year so I let go of the "wouldn't it be nice if her hair looked pretty?" thought.

Jake woke up, went to the bathroom and proceeded to cry/scream/wail for the next two minutes until I went in to see what in the name of God was wrong. There was pee everywhere. I asked him what was wrong and he said that going to the bathroom made his little toe hurt. I said a quick prayer to Jesus and commenced mothering. After commenting that I didn't see how a hurt toe could have affected his aim so much, I looked again at the toe. I touched it. I moved it around. Again, it did not seem any different from his other toe. So I gave Jake a quick hug and told him to go ahead and get dressed for picture day and would he mind just putting on a nice shirt with a collar just this one day of the year please.

He came out of his room ten minutes later with the shirt I picked out and some khaki shorts and he looked so cute. Then he started crying. "Mom, this shirt is too big. Look how far it comes down my leg." I told him that his shirt actually fit him nicely. It's just that all of his other shirts were really too small. He wasn't buying it. So I told him to just tuck the shirt in. "Mom! That is just not going to feel good." Tears from Jake. Sigh from mom. So I said "ok Jake, just go pick out a t-shirt that doesn't have any characters on it then." He said he didn't have any. So I went into his closet and came out with a cute green and white striped t-shirt for him to wear. He put it on and came out five minutes later crying more. "What's wrong Jake?" I asked. "This shirt is too big mom. Just like the other one!" Oh, dear Lord. "Jake!" I said. "That shirt fits you just fine and looks really handsome." More tears. "Jake! Why are you crying?" He said "mom, this shirt is making me want to throw up." I said, "Jake, it is physically impossible for a shirt to make a person throw up." He said, "no mom. I'm serious. This shirt is actually making my stomach hurt." I said "is it too tight or something?" He said, "no mom. It's this color green. I don't like it and it is going to make me throw up." I threw up another prayer to Jesus to deliver me from this getting ready for school pictures hell I found myself living in. So I said, "Jake, that shirt is actually doing something really cool right now. Because you see you have your daddy's pretty eyes and when ya'll wear green, your eyes actually get a cool, green ring around them." He said, "wait. Really?" I said, "yes." He said "oh wow! I think you're right!" And then he wore the damn shirt to school hobbling around on his hurt pinkie toe the whole time. And I chauffeured myself to Target all by myself listening to music that I like turned up nice and loud.