I am officially a substitute. Not the normal substitute that you would think, however. When you think of a substitute, you think of teaching...right? Last night I was a substitute husband for Krystal. Her husband went golfing with my husband. I guess Shane figured that if I was going to Krystal's softball game, he could get away with skipping.
Well...the game was kind of boring...no offense Krys!...but the coach wouldn't let her play! I might have, maybe a little bit, made her two minutes late to the game, therefore allowing the coach to not let her play. Good thing I brought my book!
I sat in my camping chair about three feet away from the metal fence surrounding the softball field, just in case Krystal got a little play time. While reading my book, I noticed in the corner of my eye a group of little kids running around. A little boy about four or five years old broke off from the group to run and stand directly in front of me. He picked up a handful of dirt and threw it in the air and watched as it fell down in a huge cloud of dust and said, "WHOA!?! IT LOOKS LIKE A BOMB!!!!!"
This little boy proceeded to cover me in a thick layer of dirt from his leftover 'dirt bombs'. Figuring that wasn't enough, he ran behind me and started to fling dirt from his hands while turning as fast as he could in a circle.
Those darn little boys.
Do little boys' mothers just pretend not to own them when they are being little miscreants?
Sometimes I wish I could shoot laser beams from my eyeballs.
Owen Vance Brown - Birth and Death Record
4 weeks ago
1 comment:
FOR REALS! Some parents just have no clue...for instance, I was at work the other day. Ahem. Sorry, just trying to set up my story...characters: Mom, David (3 yrs old), and 11 yr old son. Mom has her head BURIED in the drink cooler. 11 yr old son has run out to the car. David is wandering around as his mother randomly snaps her fingers at him and orders him to stay close--all the while keeping her head and eyeballs buried in the cooler. I'm standing there watching the whole thing. I watch little David ignore his mom and run out the door, taking off for the parking lot. I stepped in the door and yelled in my best sergeant voice, "DAVID!" ...poor little guy skidded to a stop and came back. I told him to go stand by his mommy. He walked over to her and about 3 seconds after that her head came out, and she half-listened to him tell on me for "fussing" at him. She didn't have a clue. Grr...the prideful part of me wanted her to at least thank me! But oh well...
I commit to never not pay attention to my kids whereabouts in the grocery store. Agreed?
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