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.
