K: I cannot believe you believe that.
Him: I do.
K: You believe that they were alive on the island?
Him: This show has never had a coherent story line anyway. I’m not saying my theory is a good one. I’m just saying it’s easier to believe than your version. And it’s the producer’s story.
K: Seriously? It’s easier to believe that 40-something people survived a plane crash from 30,000 feet, only to be chased around a mystical island by a puff of smoke that wants to kill them all and is an evil twin but the good twin kinda sorta looks after them, as does some guy who drank some wine and now cannot be killed and who was part of a community that lived on the island 30 years ago that was trying to harness electromagnetic energy in some bizarre experiment. So everyone stays alive until they die at different random times and then they go to this ALTERNATE time zone where they are all back as if the plane landed and time has never passed and then they go to heaven? That’s easier to believe than that they died in the crash, there were different layers of purgatory, a la Dante’s Inferno ,and you needed to progress for one to the next (everyone gets off the island) before you could go to heaven?
Him: Well, when you put it that way, your version might sound a little more believable.
K: You think?
K: I cannot believe you believe that.
E: MOM!!! Can I paint today at church?
I swore. Because really. If you don’t believe in a God of forgiveness, then isn’t that whole church thing wasting your time? Derek gave me that “do you really have to swear in the church parking lot” and I gave him a “WHAT THE HELL?” look.
Nate had some painting thing and he was supposed to bring a dad-sized t-shirt to cover up his clothes. I looked down at the paint-stained polo shirt he was wearing and thought that maybe we should just let it go. But shockingly, we have rule followers in our house. If Nate is supposed to wear an old t-shirt, far be it from his parents to bring him down in the highly competitive preschool strata.
I began to rummage through the back of the van, looking for something. Anything. Mommy Needs a Cocktail in pepto pink? A little much, even for the forgiving church. I found one of these…
I apologized to the teacher for spreading our libertarian leanings to the other 3 year olds. Or not.
When I first typed those words, I accidentally typed “Monday.” I think we can all agree that is a blog post in and of itself.
I have a very funny relationship with money. There were days that I had lots and days that I have had less than none. Most of the days are somewhere in between on the spectrum. It happens to everyone. The way my relationship with money manifests itself is how I react when I lose money. In the past when I have rolled in the cash and then some person stole $80 out of my cash box, I was pissed off for 10 minutes and then I told myself that that person obviously needed the money more than I did. Felon.
These days are significantly tighter. It doesn’t mean I’m better at keeping track of my money. It just means that I’m noticeably appreciative when I find that $10 in a pair of jeans I haven’t worn in years.
I came back from a show the other day and my kids tossed my bag in the car. I shoved everything back in and never thought about it again. The next day I had to take a box to FedEx. I really didn’t have to go to FedEx. It’s just that I missed my Post Office closing at 5 and then went to one of those ones that stays open late but apparently only to entertain you and not to actually have your stuff shipped out late. Seriously, Postal Service. If the truck left at 5, your being open until 7 is useless to me.
I had to take three crazy children into FedEx to send something overnight and FedEx is not conducive to three bulls in a china shop. I’m filling out the form because heaven forbid I HAVE ONE AT HOME and wishing to go back to our parent’s day when you could lock your children in the car at 7 at night on the curb in front of FedEx and go into FedEx alone and the biggest worry you would have is that someone mistakenly bites someone else’s finger off when they discover the pack of gum under the front seat and the race is on to eat it all, without removing the paper.
I grabbed Nate’s hand, switched the baby to another hip and threw the entire contents of my bag onto the ground.
E: Mom. What’s wrong?
K: Ethan, I can’t find the change I just got from the girl at FedEx (frantically looking around).
E: It’s okay, Mom.
K: Not really. I was going to buy you Chick-Fil-A with that change (and gas).
E: It’s okay, Mom. I can give you money.
My children are very generous with their money. “Their” money being the change they find in random places like MY WALLET. But it’s nice to know your kids will always offer to give you back your money when you need it. I threw everything back into the bag and sat Nate against the front wheel of the van, threatening him with death if he moved. I began to retrace my steps the 30 feet back to FedEx. I got to the curb and saw the crumbled bills strewn across the road. I picked them back up and ran back to the van. The Baby tried to grab them out of my hand as I ran.
E: Mom. I said I would give you a dollar for dinner.
K: Thanks, Eat.
E: I have money, Mom. Do you need it?
K: Where do you have money?
E: In my drawer back here (pointing to his seat in the van). Let me give you a dollar, Mom. I can buy my chicken sandwich. I can buy yours too.
K: A chicken sandwich costs more than a dollar, Eat, but thanks so much.
E: Mom, you were worried. I think you need it.
With that he pressed a dollar into my hand. Except it was a $20.
K: WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?
E: I found it on the floor (pointing to the place between the seats where they had trashed my bag from the SHOW the day before). You know how you say that when you find money in our clothes in the laundry, you get to keep it. I FOUND it.
K: Do you have more?
With that he pulled out 4 more 20s. I am not lying. My kid was sitting on $100 in the back of the van.
I offered him a quarter for the $100 and he took it. It’s nice to realize your kids are going to be as good about money as you are.