Bamboozled

I've been bamboozled.

You see on the days I pick Grayson up after soccer he is spent.  I usually get a nice quiet afternoon because he immediately needs to recharge.   He doesn't typically sleep but it's so rare this child is physically depleted.  I freaking love soccer class.

Today I asked him to recharge in the store while I shopped for tops that don't make me look like a caterpillar (all cotton Ts) or six months pregnant (the rest of the things I own). 

He went for it at first.  A shirtless Abby next to him (Don't ask, we're hoping Hooters gives scholarships.) agreed to shop too.  Of course I had to bribe them with a promise of a new toy but hey, I will be happy to spend two dollars on a plastic aircraft carrier with a busted up Captain's chair.  We were on our way to the thrift store.  I know, lucky kids.

Three streets away Grayson decides he is just too tired.  Major sleepy award winning yawns.  Can he take a rest in the store?  Will there be a chair on which he may rest his weary head?

You know of course the peanut gallery has to concur.  She is suddenly so very very tired and must also find a bench on which to rest her weary weary head.

I'm sure Sadie would've chimed in with a heaving sigh of exhaustion too had she been...well...awake.

(I should probably test my car for radon.)

I give in.  Thrift or not, this adventure will not end well if I force the constituents to participate against their will.  And plus, who am I to argue about a little nap action at 3pm?

I should've seen it coming.

Nobody slept.  Grayson did a Yeoman's job of pretending until I heard some sort of galactic showdown complete with soapy puddles in his bathroom.  What the hell goes in in a boy's bathroom I will never know.  My mom always said I would be surprised at how filthy a boy child can make a bathroom with nothing but a washcloth, Matchbox cars, and his own devices.  She was right.  Absolute domestic mayhem up in there.  I honestly did not clean it up.  Forced him to cease fire, retreat and close the door behind him.   

Abby did rest somewhat though and we will all rue the minute I allowed that to happen come 9pm or so when she is doing a back handstand on the kitchen table screaming, "Give me Nonie crackers or give me death!"

Next time, we are going to the thrift store.

I will not buy the B.S. they are selling and I may just throw in a trip to the post office for screwing with me today.

Little baby manipulators, I fear you not.

You may be clever but I'm on to you now and will smell your performance chops a mile away.