Yesterday I made a grievous and critical miscalculation in the parenting game. I told my four year old (who has sketchy understanding of time, at best) that I signed him up to play fall baseball. Now, every single day I will go through the exact same routine:
Josh: “Mom, is it time to play baseball yet?”
Me: “No honey, it’s still too hot. We’ll play in the fall when it’s cooler.”
Him: “Who are my coaches?”
Me: “I have no idea.”
Him *starting to break down in tears* “BUT IT’S GOING TO TAK A LONG LONG TIIIIIMMMEEE!!!”
*dance break for hysterical wailing*
I’ll just be over here in the pit of Sarlaac where I’ll learn a new definition of pain & suffering and be slowly digested over a period of a thousand years.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
