“Really?  REALLY?”

 

I can’t tell you how. many. times. I have said that word (always repeated, with an emphasis on the second use of it) this past week.  It has become my rhetorical question.  My ironic exclamation.  My “Are-You-Trying-To-Kill-Me-With-What-You-Just-Pulled” way to blow off steam.

Scenario One

Barney Kneeknuckles (who is *thisclose* to reaching his sixth month birthday) won’t nap.  Hardly ever.  He stays awake all day — grumpy but determined to keep his little eyes open.  Oh, yeah, and determined to have my attention all day long.

He’s a baby.  I get it — it’s his “thing.”

But the minute Hubby takes him?  That little mite curls up on Hubby’s chest and passes out.  Dead to the world asleep.

Really, Barney?  REALLY?

Scenario Two

I swear the Kidlets have made some secret pact with one another to embarrass me in public.  Regardless of how many of them are with me or where we are, I am guaranteed to be red-faced at least once during the venture.

At least once.

Last week, I braved Target with all three of them — a feat I swear was one of Hercules’ labors.  It had to have been.

Everything was going eerily well.  They were pleasant.  Not fighting.  Not begging to be taken out of the cart and allowed to walk (which is code for “we want to run off, squealing and screaming, hands in the air, looking for anything and everything to touch).

Then, we rounded a corner and found ourselves staring at the world’s largest bra display.

I heard a very loud, very shrill, VERY LOUD kidlet voice start proclaiming:  “MOMMY!  Doze are for your BOOBIES, Mommy!  YOUR BOOBIES!  BOOBIES!  MOMMY, YOUR BOOBIES!  For when you feed da Baby from your BOOBIES!  BOOOOOOOOOBIEEEEEEES!“

Really, Mr. Boy?  REALLY?

And of course there are other situations. . .

Shoes that are always disappearing right when we need to walk out the door. 

Permanent markers that are utilized to draw body art right when we are about to head to church. 

Urgent “I Need To Go Potty” distress signals on the freeway … after the same child, while being buckled into her car seat, crossed her heart and promised she most decidedly did NOT need to go to the bathroom.

I know, without a doubt, it is these “Really” moments that led God to providentially inspire the invention of wine, coffee, and cookies.  And chocolate.

He knew Mommies were going to need divine (and edible) intervention.

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