Monday, May 09, 2016

This time of year is insane, isn’t it?  It’s a weird cross between “how the hell is it already the end of the school year” and “If I have to pack one more sack lunch someone is getting cut.”  Most of the time I feel like I’m riding a roller coaster backwards and blindfolded, and I’m not sure I heard the safety bar click into place.  But not today.  For some reason - I blame Mercury in retrograde - today I got cocky.  Today I felt in control.  Organized.  Like if Martha Stewart had a love child with an Ikea catalog.  #Winning #NailedIt
So when I got the email from our room mom this morning, the one that started out, “Sorry for the short notice...” I was all, HELLS YES.  Bring a flower for Teacher Appreciation Day tomorrow.  No problem. I got this.  

Don’t be fooled.  My delusions of competence only lasted until about 3PM, when the wheels officially came off.  I picked the kids up from school and my 2nd grader immediately lost his ever loving MIND about having to go to the grocery store.  That’s his thing lately.  The grocery store might as well be the center of the Zombie Apocalypse, because he is not going anywhere near that place.  Not even if I offer up doughnuts, which I did, because I am not above bribery and I really, REALLY needed to go to the grocery store.  (Because said 2nd grader is a big fan of eating food, and we didn’t have any.  Irony?)  After that my evening is kind of a blur of homework, dinner, baseball, and the second 8-year-old meltdown that was a classic mashup of “Why do I have to get my uniform on right now?  You’re so mean.” and “WHAT?  We’re late to baseball? You’re so mean.”  

So by the time we rolled into Sweet Pea’s volleyball practice, floral responsibilities were completely off my radar.  Until, of course, i was basking the glory of my silent, parked car.  That’s when I remembered the flower.  Damnit.  (45 minutes with nothing to do but stare at Facebook and Pinterest.  45 whole minutes slipped through my fingers…)

It just so happens that I was really near a Walmart.  That’s kind of out of the ordinary for me, and presents a challenge.  I would like to tell you that the challenge is a moral one, that my ethical compass prevents me from shopping at Wal Mart.  But if we’re being honest it’s more about a 42 year old woman who doesn’t want to get in trouble with her Daddy.  Because his moral and ethical compass does prevent him from shopping at Walmart.  And if anyone were to report seeing me there, the disapproving lecture would probably cut into my “no-one talk to mommy” time. But sometimes necessity means donning dark glasses and going into Wallyworld.  

It’s for the kids, I told myself.  It’s for the kids.  

Apparently I have Walmart mixed up with a 7-11 from 1992, because I sincerely thought I was going to be able to march my ass in there and find single stem roses for sale at the register. What was I thinking?  The options for single stem roses at Walmart include nothing.  Not even the wooden ones that smell like cheap perfume and ashtray, or the lacey ones made out of a rolled up g-string.  In fact, the floral section at Walmart at 7:45 p.m. on the day after Mother’s Day was completely cleaned out.  (Aww, Moms!) The kiosk that holds bouquets was literally empty, save one sad little arrangement of daisies, which I lunged for.

Mission accomplished.  Good job Supermom.  

“Mom,” Sweet Pea said with growing concern in her voice when we got home.  “What’s up with these flowers?”  

“Those are for you to take to your homeroom teacher tomorrow.”

“I think somebody spilled something on them.”

“No, I think that’s decoration.”

“It looks like spray-paint.”

“It’s decoration.  You know, to give them some color.”

“Flowers don’t need decoration.  Flowers ARE decoration.  This looks like that stuff you spray in your hair at Halloween.  It’s weird.”

“It’s springy.  Bright springy colors.”

“Who decided to spray paint flowers?  Seriously?  Who does that?”


“I’m telling Grandpa.”