I ran out to do some pre-vacation shopping tonight… I’m all butt-tired, but our countdown to departure has shifted from days into hours, and TICK TICK TICK goes the clock. Oldest son was with me; youngest son was with daddy, out for a walk in the neighborhood, and last I had heard, middle son was over at the neighbors’ house, hanging out with his pal.
I got home, all leg-weary from making multiple stops in search of those dang Fla-vor-Ice freeze pops that are a Beach Week tradition for the kids (never did find the ones I wanted), and hauled the loot inside. It was… quiet. Curt was settling in with a beer and some crackers to read the newspaper. Oldest son was fussing with his laptop, trying to install a webcam. I assumed the other two boys were tucked into bed, dreaming dreams of hot sandy beaches and freeze pops. (I really have to find them before we head south!!)
By now it’s 10:20 p.m. I was surprised to hear the squeaky hinges of our door. In walks middle son, apparently just getting home from the neighbors’ house. I was all, wow, I thought you were in bed, are you just getting home? He said, yeah.
Then Curt says: “Did you bring your little brother home?”
“No,” replied middle son.
“Wow – you mean he’s still over at their house?”
“Uh, yeah,” the boy replied.
I looked up from my computer and repeated the wee one’s name, thinking Curt meant the oldest son instead of the youngest. We are always mixing up their names. (I understand that never gets better. You would think by now we would be able to tell them apart.)
“Right, the little one,” he replied.
Then middle son snarfed his glass of milk and I knew they were totally messing with me.
Not a nice trick to play on a leg-weary, brain-fried, exhausted mommy on a weeknight!
Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to go verify that I have three boys under this roof, tuck them in, kiss them goodnight, and collapse in my own bed.