This past weekend was unusual. I had no responsibilities at church, we had a wide open weekend. We pondered taking the kids somewhere on Sunday, if we got things done on Saturday.
And then, it happened. Friday night, the coughing, sneezing, sore throat, runny nose hit. Me. Now I’m not useless, even when sick, but sore throats - well, you’ve probably been there, too. Talking is painful and that makes everything else seem so much more difficult. Especially when my 3 kids determined that they seemed to need a LOT of talking to before we even got to 9am on Saturday.
I spent a lot of the day resting. And drinking lots.
On Friday night, Tim had mentioned the possibility of seeing the car show while it was in town. This interests me about as much as watching paint dry. And honestly, watching paint dry might actually interest me *more* in some circumstances. Actually, I probably would have enjoyed the car show, especially if I’d “made up my mind to have a decent time” (the line I tell Picasso when he needs an attitude adjustment at an outing).
We decided that the rest was doing me good, and that Tim would take the kids to church Sunday morning, then head down to the auto show. On Sunday morning, I packed lunches for them all, and tried to think of all the “little things” that might help to make this outing a success for them.
There were a few minor hiccups and Picasso had a few “moments” due to a)something new and different, and b)me not going along. Where was I? Hangin’ out on the couch with my faithful Sunday companions:
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| Tea, honey, cough drops, tissues, Tylenol, Vitamin C, and Renoir - pretty good company! |
At one point, Tim called as they were walking to head into the exhibit. Seems Picasso was pushing to gather some “rememberances” of the outing. Tim said, “He wants the wet match book or the Heineken bottle. He said you told him he could collect glass bottles.” At that moment, I had forgotten that I had said he could collect glass bottles. I told him he needed to stop giving Daddy such a hard time and go see the cars. I got him settled, and apparently the rest of the outing went just fine.
A few hours later, I remembered: Picasso and I *had* talked about the possibility of him collecting glass bottles. But in MY mind, it’d be ones we’re done with here, or cool ones that he finds at the Dollar Store or out somewhere. However, I never did specify that. Probably because I NEVER expected he’d be walking through Philadelphia wanting to pick up some bottle that was just lying on the side of the road.
