Unrelated nonsense

I am an amazing mom, Part I

I heard a few little dings on my phone this morning, alerting me to new messages from my daughters’ preschool.

I ignored them. I was focused, writing a blog post to save the world. It wasn’t the time for cute pictures, and fall preschool registration could wait until later.

When I finally glanced at my phone, I answered the most recent preschool message because it was short, indicating the bare-bones of essential information and none of this Earth Day chitchat.

I was kinda proud for answering the peanut butter question so quickly. #SuperMom #ItsSunbutter #LeanIn

Back to writing!

Then I got a text from my husband:

Look, my kid hates shoes. The moment I’ve buckled her into the carseat and closed the door, she’s already removed all footwear and chucked it into the back row of the minivan. It’s a pain to scavenge for shoes while keeping two small children from escaping to run wild (and barefoot) through the parking lot. Somehow the socks and shoes end up in four completely different places that are all hard to reach, and one of them generally lands in something disgusting, like a discarded applesauce pouch. I suppose the bright side is that I get a little cleaning done.

On days when I’m running late (so, always), I skip this annoying little routine and put shoes in a bag along with her lunch.

It’s a reasonable solution so long as you PUT THE SHOES IN THE RIGHT BAG!

Here ya go! Enjoy the full context of my sunbutter supermom moment:

Do you also detect hint of panic in this message? “She’s out of clothes and doesn’t have any shoes…”

And my response to the whole desperate situation is just: Sunbuyter

Even if there is a perfectly good explanation (AND THERE IS!), there’s no coming back from dropping your kid off at preschool without shoes and clothes (or extra clothes, anyways, I demand some credit for not dropping her off naked, which is also harder than it sounds).

Back to my husband’s text messages:

It’s sweet, really. I bring my two-year old to preschool with no clothes or shoes, and my husband gallantly shifts the blame onto the toddler. The barefoot toddler. Who is “figuring out life in the wild.”

That’s love.