Monday, April 1, 2013

My Little Runaway

If you are one of those perfect parents with perfect children, please stop reading.  Stop reading. I hate you. Really.

If you are one of those parents who just hope you're not scarring your children too badly, then this is a feel good story you'll enjoy.

Today was the first day back to school after a lovely week off. There were tears, stomping of feet, and unabashed sorrow. And that was just me! The kids were sluggish and grumpy, too.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go!

After a loooooong day at work, I return home to my kiddos.  My son is clearly annoyed with his day, cranky, and basically a total pill to be around.  His attitude, inability to listen, and overall lack of follow-through requires that I do a little something referred to as "parenting."  He hates that. He absolutely hates having me tell him obvious things like:

"You're room is a mess so clean it."
"Your homework isn't done so finish it."
"The toilet isn't flushed so flush it."

After a round of consequences which included him cleaning the toilet (honestly, one more unflushed toilet and I will come completely unglued), he decided he had had enough.

"You won't be talking to me for some time," he said as headed towards the back door while clutching his favorite stuffed animal.

"Where are you going?" I asked this calmly while handing him his jacket.

"Canada," he responded with a twinkle in his eye and a slight smirk surfacing on his young face.


"Canada or Washington, D.C. I'm not sure which."

"Hmmmm.  Well, you better decide soon because they are in completely different directions."


"Well, be sure to call me when you get there."

"Can I have a cell phone to take with me?"

"Oh, no.  You'll have to borrow a phone when you get there, but you can have a piece of fruit for your trip.  Do you want to take an apple?"

"No thanks."

And just like that, he was gone.  He got on his scooter and scooted down the driveway and out of sight.

I figured if he was going to Canada by scooter, I wouldn't get a phone call for a week.  If he decided to venture to Washington, DC, I figured I'd hear something within the week.

I continued reheating leftovers making dinner.

Imagine my surprise when my sweet son scooted back up the driveway three minutes later. Into the kitchen he walked with his stuffed animal.

"I'm still not happy about cleaning the toilet for free."

I ignore this statement because I am against child abuse and I couldn't think of an appropriate response at that moment.

Later he brought me a piece of paper with a graph on it.  The graph was clearly displaying a negative slope.

"Mom, your polling numbers aren't very good," he said with a twinkle in his eye.  "You should ask dad how to raise your polling numbers."

Funny boy.

Funny boy may just have the pleasure of cleaning another toilet tomorrow.
I'm a mom not a politician. I could give a hoot about my polling numbers!

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