I'm the favorite

I'm not gonna lie, I LOVE being the favorite.  It stems from being the favorite child in my family.  (Ok, well maybe that's not entirely true--the part about me being the favorite).  Since it didn't work in my family, I tried to tell my father-in-law that I was his favorite.  He agrees (with a stipulation), but he adds "oldest" into it--so I'm his favorite "oldest" daughter-in-law, guess I'm not the favorite there either.  What's with all of this equality business anyway?  Just like there is sibling rivalry (in order to be at the top of the parental favoritism list), I would argue that there is spousal rivalry as well.  (I think I'm going to see if they will include that as a disorder in the upcoming DSM V).  Even though adults should be mature enough to not play the "favorite game", the reality is--I'm not that mature.  It's true.

Yesterday was one of the more precious Aaron days.  It started at school where I attended a crack for kids Valentine's party.  It was the end of the day and I was getting ready to leave.  Aaron grabbed my hand with a death grip that turned my hand white.  I was planning on taking him anyway, but I enjoyed the sweet pain of my hand being crushed because I knew that he wanted me.  It only got better from there.  It wasn't even bed time yet when Aaron said, "Mah, coh hewe" (Mom come here) and grabbed my hand to lead me somewhere.  I stopped my whatever non-important thing I was doing (my euphoria of having him want me erased my memory), and I let him drag me through the house. It turned out that he wanted me to put him to bed, so we went through his bedtime routine, and I left his room a happy "Mah".  Husband, Daughter and I settled down in my bed to watch The Voice when I noticed that his door was open.  I found him and brought him to my room to lay down.  His hot, sweaty body fell asleep during the show, and I subjected myself to the inferno because he was just too sweet.  (Sleeping kids are the best!).  After the show, Husband woke him up to put him to bed (long gone are the days of carrying him anywhere).  They got all the way to his room when I hear "Mah, Mah.  I want Mah."  How can I resist that?  So without gloating too much (ahem), I repeated Aaron's bedtime routine, and both of us fell asleep happy.  

Fast forward to this morning.  [If you've read this blog, you may remember that Husband hates all animals (especially our two golden retrievers).  Hold on to this information--you will need it in a minute.]  It's time for Aaron to get on the bus.  Husband is walking out the door for work, so he yells that he'll take Aaron out to the bus.  Well Aaron doesn't want Husband to take him.  He wants ME to take him (oh yeah baby)!  In the midst of this exchange, Husband leaves the front door open.  Not good.  The golden retrievers seize this amazing opportunity and go FLYING out the front door. Chaos has now ensued.  Luckily(?) the dogs went running onto the bus.  The bus driver grabbed them, and Aaron and I are walking towards the bus.  She sees us coming, so she lets the dogs go.  Son and Daughter come running out to get the dogs, but the dogs have other plans.  They go bolting off down the street.  I know that Husband is most likely pissed at this point (especially since it was his fault--not that I'm assigning blame or anything).  The dogs are headed for the woods, and the kids are running as fast as they can after them.  I'm not sure what my emotions should have been at this moment, but I was quite satisfied that Aaron wanted me to put him on the bus.  Long story short, Husband ended up corralling the dogs in his car, brings them home, and drives to work.  He calls me to let me know how ironic it is that the boy wanted me, and the dogs wanted him (the sarcasm in his voice was thick).  I leave the conversation with a deep sense of gratification--it's going to be a good day.       

Scissors

What did you do this morning?  I bet you didn't spend 20 minutes with a tiny pair of scissors trying to get a tag off of the elastic band on underwear.  Yeah.  I didn't realize when I bought this package of underwear (for Aaron--just for clarification) that they would have tags.  Who puts tags on clothes anymore?  Everything is supposed to be tag-free now.  I can't believe Fruit of the Loom doesn't know this.  Anyhow, thankfully I didn't wait until the last absolute minute to get Aaron dressed for school (not that I've ever done that)--otherwise he may have been ripping his underwear off at school--not cool.  Husband apparently ran into this problem before I did, and his solution was to cut the tag out of the elastic, so now there is a big cut out of the elastic of another pair!  I at least "saved" the elastic from being cut to shreds!

After Aaron got home from school he comes downstairs, whining, saying "scissors, scissors".  I am SO thankful that he didn't find some on his own otherwise there would be one funny looking kid running around! 

Peanut butter saved the day!  He was quite unhappy with the process, trying to wipe the peanut butter out of his hair while I was trying to work it through the gum.  I tried to have as much compassion as possible (which isn't much), but COME ON!  Don't put gum in your hair!  Thankfully the peanut butter worked, and after some apple Suave he was back in business!  Although his hair smelled confusing...Is it apple? Is it peanut butter? Who cares--he only lost a few hairs in the process, and taking scissors to his hair was avoided!