Every morning here in the Halu-Halo residence, there is a flurry of excitement as to who gets what bowl for their morning cereal.
Excitement is probably not the most accurate word to describe it - it's more like an eyerollingfrustration or a mindnumbingchaos.
We have exactly the perfect amount of Fiesta bowls for each of our family members, except for Baby J, and if all of the bowls are present then there isn't really an issue.
But, in our house, we never know where that last bowl is....in the dishwasher, maybe, or in the wrong cupboard. Hubby could have taken it all the way to work and heck I really wouldn't have known, because as a mom of four I choose my battles. Kids safe? Check. Fed? Check. Mama's sanity intact? Close enough. Last bowl? Uh-whocares.
In the middle of these morning "discussions" on who's turn it is to take the yellow bowl, which has been deemed the least desireable against an unknown criteria set by my kids, I really try to teach them that it really doesn't matter what bowl they use. I plead, I put my hands up, I wave my arms like Vanna White and show them that these bowls are all the same.
My 10 and 8 year old boys are pretty easy going about all of this; I think they like to "discuss" just because they like to hash everything to the tee. Usually, as soon as they see me exasperated they take the bowl nearest to them and life goes on. But my Sweet R, in her 6-year-old sassiness, only wants the red bowl, because it is "a girl color."
I usually take her under my mama-bird wing and talk to her about the many different colors in the world and how they are beautiful. She always looks at me as if she really doesn't buy it, but eventually agrees and takes whatever bowl is left. Then I pat myself on the back for being consistent, and for teaching her to be flexible and appreciative.
Last weekend, Hubby went to the Commissary for his twice a month shopping spree. Armed with my shopping list and his zipped baggie of coupons - yes, my Army Man doesn't only shop, but shops with coupons !!hoooah!! - he set off with me yelling as he walked out the door, "Don't forget to pick up the disposable razors that have more than 3 blades."
And no, my neighbors didn't hear me, thank goodness.
He acknowledged with his coffee cup in the air and off he went with half of our brood.
Two hours later, he returned, looking very accomplished and proud, with a car full of groceries and with kids who had half a bag of candy already in their cheeks. I started to unpack, and asked him if he bought my razors.
"Yep," he said and he pulled them out of the bag.
Me (trying not to panic): These are men's razors!
Him (not looking at me, still proud from all of the bananas he brought home): Huh?
Me: (holding up the package): These! (shaking them) These are men's!
Him: (arranging his bananas): You said you wanted razors with at least 3 blades. Those have four! (he smiles)
Me: (still shaking them): But women's razors are pink!
Him: It doesn't matter does it? Aren't they all the same? Just a different color.
I took a deep breath, readying myself for my tantrum, preparing my argument that he will need to return these razors and get me the correct ones. Then I looked around and realized that I had little Sweet R staring at me, still chewing her Skittles and waiting for my reaction.
So, I did what I had to do. I took one for the team. I stayed quiet, and today I used one of those darned razors.
And guess what? They are exactly the same as their pink counterparts.
Happy Hump Day everyone! Hope your little lessons today bring you some laughs!