If you've been keeping up on this week's happenings (WHAT??? YOU HAVEN'T??? MY BLOG IS NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN YOUR LIFE???) you'd know that Brock and I are holding down the fort while my parents are away this week. Because she's awesome, my mother prepared dinner menus ahead of time for every night except the last one (Saturday).
On Monday, my sweet grandma invited us to her house for pizza and root beer. Great! I thought. I'll just push all the other dinners back one night, and that'll take care of Saturday.
Unfortunately, the nightly plans are posted in the kitchen for all to see. So all day on Tuesday, Caden--unaware of my push-back plans--was looking forward to that night's slated dinner: Spaghetti. His favorite. (Even though he eats it with no sauce...)
I'm fairly certain that all four ventricles of Caden's heart came to a stop on Tuesday evening upon his realization that I'd prepared chicken casserole, not spaghetti. In a nanosecond, I saw his little blue eyes dart to-and-fro with confusion. His mouth hung open slightly as he tried to process his feelings. Cue sound. Cue fury.
Tears started flowing. He collapsed--no, melted--into an inconsolable heap on the floor. I tried not to laugh.
After a little "healthy ways to deal with disappointment " chitchat from Brock, Caden came to the table and everything was fine. I have to constantly remind myself of how small Caden and Connor's world is, and that there's no problem with that. Little worlds are okay for little boys.
When you think about it, we all live in little worlds where little things matter to us disproportionately. Caden's reaction to a spaghetti-less night was about on par with how I reacted when my camera was stolen last year--with all 200+ pictures that I'd painstakingly taken of my family's trip to Ecuador. We're so quick to judge people for sweating the small stuff when we all do the same thing. Just with different stuffs.
In other news . . .
- Caden and Connor discovered Febreeze and Old Spice body spray this week. They think a Febreezed room means a clean room, and an Old Spiced body means a clean body. The result is a dirty room that smells like passionfruit, and dirty bodies that smell like the halls of a middle school.
- We're teaching Colby (17) the tricks of the cleaning trade. Like how when you wash dishes in the sink, you use water and soap.
- I tried taking a bath a couple days ago and failed miserably. Bath fails are common for me, but usually because of their bubbleless-ness. This time, I had the opposite problem. I found a packet of eucalyptus aromatherapy salts in the bathroom and dumped them in the jet tub as it was filling up. After five minutes of awkward, naked ooh-ahh-ooh-ahh-OW!-ooh-ahh toe-dipping to find the perfect temperature, I slipped into the water and turned on the jets. It wasn't long before I was up to my EYEBALLS in bubbles. Guess I should've read the directions on the back of the packet: "Due to the foaming nature of these salts, use sparingly in whirlpool tubs." Since when do you need to read the DIRECTIONS for bath salts??!?!
- We're teaching Caden and Connor English phrases. After Connor won a game of "Race to the Roof" the other night, we tried to coerce him into one more round, but he wasn't budging. "You need to defend your title!" we prodded. He stared at us blankly and said, "Yeah. And if I don't play, I am defending it." Touche, mon frere. How very Swiss of him.
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