I typed up a post today, copied it, and when I pasted it, it was the serial number from our high chair. Instead of getting really, really mad that I couldn't find my post that I had just typed (Okay, I got mad but I'm over it now) I am posting something that I wrote in February but didn't post then. Please read on.
Last Friday was an odd day. We woke up Friday morning (5:30-ish) to the sound of really, really loud hail hammering our house. And then for Friday, the trusty weathermen had predicted a blizzard. So the area schools closed down even though no snow had actually fallen at this point. Being from Colorado, this is hard for me to understand, but I guess they were erring on the side of caution. Bryan’s school was not cancelled for some reason. And one by one my daycare kids’ moms called and said that they would be staying home until…no one was coming! Wheeee! It was like someone told me that cookie dough could now be injected directly into my vein.
Since I never get to have lunch with my dear husband, I decided the boys and I would pick up some lunch for him and take it to his school. We got him some food and headed that way. We didn’t call first because I wanted him to be surprised. THAT was my first mistake.
About that time, the blizzard started. But I really, really wanted to surprise him with lunch so I just figured we could drive slowly and it would be okay. We finally got there and went to his classroom. We waited. And waited. Still no Bryan. So we went to the school lunchroom thinking that perhaps he had eaten there. No Bryan. Some older women saw me lugging around a baby in a carrier and a squirrely toddler and told me I should just go to the office and have him paged. We went into the office, which was jam-packed with people and I told the woman sitting at the counter that I needed to page Mr. Phillips. The office got quiet. She looked at me with a big smile and said, “You must be grandma!”
In my mind, I was thinking, “Do you want me to punch you in the face now or wait for you after school?”
I replied, “No, I’m mom. These are my babies,” I pointed to the boys and tried to sound undisturbed.
“Oh, you mean you’re Bryan’s mom?” the lady asked me. Did this mean that before she thought I was Bryan’s grandma?
“No,” I told her, “I’m Bryan’s WIFE.”
“Oh,” she said with a confused face which quickly turned into an embarrassed face, “Nevermind.” And then she paged him to the office. (Later I found out that he had gone to lunch with his dad - lesson learned: call first.)
Really, what is WITH these people? Do I honestly look old enough to be Bryan’s grandma or even his mom? I know that starting a family at age 29 makes me an old maid in these here parts but cut me a little slack!
So much for my expensive age-fighting eye cream.