First, let me issue a blanket apology to all of you mamas out there whose daughters may, someday, be interested in dating or (heaven forbid) marrying one of my boys.  They are spoiled, spoiled, spoiled…especially the oldest one and he’s setting quite example for his younger brother to follow.  Now, on to my story….

Three things about this morning’s adventure in getting a certain someone out the door.

1.  I can’t do everything.  I know, I know…I am actually supposed to sprout wings or a cape and be able to fly (OK, maybe it’s actually a broom I need to fly) around and get absolutely everything done.  But truth of the matter is, I can’t.  I can’t sprout wings, capes are good for looks only and brooms well they only get me in a witchy mood.  I am stuck being a human mama who can’t do everything.  So when Zach comes breezing downstairs at 8:15 asking me for eggs, that’s a can do, but when I see him tying a tie around his neck alarm bells start ringing and I know the schedule has been altered.  And the conversation goes something like this…

Me: “Ummm, what are you doing?”
Zach: “It’s our last home game tonight and we all have to wear ties.”
Me:  “I know it’s your last home game.  So what are shirt are you wearing with that tie?”
Zach:  Pointing to a shirt hanging in the laundry room “This one.”
Me: “Doesn’t that need to be ironed?”
Zach: With a wicked, pleading gleam in  his eye “Yes.”
Me:  “Well, shit Zach you could have told me this sooner than 15 minutes before you need to leave!!”
Zach: “I did, Mom.  Last night…you just must not have been paying attention.”
Me:  “You most certainly did not tell me you needed to have a shirt ironed.”  And I stomp off, in a huff, to go iron a shirt…yelling as I go “You will have to fix your own eggs.  I can’t do everything!”

2.  I should never, ever be put in charge of ironing clothes.  Not only do I despise ironing, I truly, 100% suck at it!  As I grumbled and huffed over the ironing board I noticed, and not for the first time, that I put more wrinkles in clothes as I am ironing them then I can iron out.  I suck!

3.  Seriously, that man-child of mine is soooooo fricking lucky he’s cute because he’s a big, giant pain in the kiester!!  The twinkle in his warm, honey-brown eyes gets me every time.  I know I shouldn’t cave the way I do but there are times when his charm and his sweetness mixed together with his puppy dog eyes causes me to do things for him I know I shouldn’t….like drop everything to iron wrinkles into (I know it should say “out of” but it would be a lie!) a shirt 15 minutes before both he and I need to be out the door.  It’s been that way since he was little, damn him!

So again, I offer my apologies to the mamas and their daughters out there who may, someday, become involved with my boys…especially Zach.  They are spoiled and I know it.  But luckily he (they) are cute!

Ohhhhhhhhh, for the love of my children…