What Happens When Dad's Away

Apparently, this week the Hawklets learned a new word: “Toyota.” So now there’s an ongoing discussion between them as to what is and is not a Toyota.

“Is that a Toyota?”

“Hey, there’s our car. It’s not a Toyota.”

“No, Reid, our car’s not a Toyota, it’s gray!!”

Hubby has been away this weekend. I am a golf tournament widow. My intellect took a little weekend off as well. So the Hawklets and I have been enjoying eating whatever we want for dinner. Tonight, that meant McDonald’s drive thru for them. For me, it meant some mozzarella and then a bowl of Raisin Bran when the mozzarella wasn’t enough to tide me over. Graham was willing to give up his Happy Meal to help me with the Raisin Bran. As much as I appreciate help, I just couldn’t bear to allow him to give up his nutritious McDonald’s dinner to eat some cereal.

Last night, it was peanut butter. They only wanted one piece of bread though, so I can’t say they ate peanut butter sandwiches per se. Sort of open-faced peanut butter. I think I had some cherries.

I hope Hubby comes back soon so we can start eating normally again.

We had to make a Target run because mommy needed some nail polish and the Hawklets needed some milk. (Wow, I just re-read that sentence and pictured us all barefoot. I promise we were all wearing shoes.)

Reid decided he wanted to walk. Graham obliged my direction to ride in the cart. A couple of elderly women made conversation with them. They pointed out that Reid was such a big boy to walk by the cart.

Graham couldn’t let that one go.

“I’m a big boy, too! I go pee on the potty!” he assured them.

I spent most of yesterday convincing them that cleaning and playing are essentially one in the same. “Who wants to get the vacuum out of the closet?!” I asked excitedly. “I do! I do!” Graham called, running towards the door.

I had to force them to take turns with the Swiffer Wet Jet. It was just too much fun. I probably expended as much energy managing the turn taking as I would have just swiffering by myself.

I actually hate that thing, but Hubby insisted on it. So I’ve tried to convince myself that the film it leaves on our floors is a film of cleanliness. Perhaps a G-force barrier, keeping germs from penetrating. Still, the whole time I’m pushing it around, I can’t help but think I’m cleaning the floors with a giant maxi pad on a stick.

This morning they explored all the treasures we keep hidden in the basement while I did laundry. They found several old garage sale leftovers. First up, a pair of 5-lb. dumbbells. “Look, mom, we’re gyming!” Graham demonstrated.

Next, an old barbeque brush. Graham needed to brush my hair with it. “Well, mom, it’s not working. Your hair’s not getting pretty,” he sighed. “You should cry now.”

But it was actually the two of them crying after they had each hit each other over the head with the “barbeque broom” as Graham called it and I had to re-banish it to the basement.

Is Hubby home yet?