It’s the end of July, and you know what that means: BABY GOT CLASS! Thank Jesus. Y’all, I can’t take much more of this summer “vacation” bologna. Daycare drama is infinitely more “Days of Our Lives” than grade school could ever be. You know Gabe came home a few days ago saying how most of his friends have girlfriends? THEY’RE FIVE. Six, tops. Thanks a lot, MTV. When I was six, all my parents had to worry about was whether or not I’d come home with gum in my hair… again. They never worried about me and my siblings coming home all, “Yeah, so I met this guy at recess today. We totally took a nap together after he shot Cheerios out of his nose. I think he’s The One.”
Gag me with a spoon. Kids that young don’t even KNOW the struggle and its realness. But, I digress.
Anyway, school’s coming up soon. I’m excited enough to go school shopping on the second craziest weekend of the year (tax free weekend) yet still dreading the unavoidable emptying of my pockets. The kids’ birthdays are also in August, so we’re already tapped out. But it’s alright, because school! Do the thing, make the grades!
I took the boys’ “annual day of birth” pictures early this year because this month is already jam-packed full of open house meetings, doctor’s appointments, and other various activities. They were not completely thrilled with my decision because A) it was hot and B) they’re kids and don’t like to cooperate. Such is life.
We made it out alive, but barely. I don’t understand the headache of birthday pictures… or just good pictures, in general. If I tell the kids to say cheese at 7 A.M. on a weekend, fresh out of bed, in just their underwear and superhero capes, it’s not problem. “What’s that, you say? You need a bad millionth picture of us? Absolutely!” But good pictures? “What, mom? You need us to cooperate? These pictures are going to family, you say? Hang on… let me bang my head through a wall.” Drinks may or may not have been had after the fiasco that from here on out should be called, “annual day of mom forgetting what a pain in the ass this is” picture day. At any rate, we’re at the weekend. Praise Jesus! I’ll probably be begging Monday to carry its ass in t-minus twenty-four hours.
Happy Friday, y’all.