Just a Stone's Throw...

Today I pulled into my driveway to see my nanny still there. This I expected. What I did not expect was to find my husband home before me. Oh, AND the nanny still there. She greeted me at my car parked haphazardly on the front lawn (yeah, our neighbors love how ghetto we are). “Hey, I know I’ve said if one of our parents shows up unannounced check with me before leaving – but thank God you stayed here until I got home…I don’t trust that guy (pointing at my husband) with my kids,” I joked.

Here is the part where she informed me that my brilliant son shoved a pebble up his nose. Really?!? Oh, my God. I did the first thing any self-respecting parent would do considering no one was screaming or bleeding: I laughed. And laughed. She explains it wasn’t big and that BJ was waiting for the Doctor’s office to call him back with instructions on what to do next (I make a snide comment about him being too young to know how to make an impressive enough ‘Snot Rocket’ to launch said pebble). My son was sitting next to him, happy as a clam, on our brick stairs. I looked at him and asked if he was ok. He pondered this for a moment…

“Mommy, why did the chicken cross the road?”

At this point, I had to turn around. I looked our nanny square in the face and inquired of her, “to get another rock?!?” As she tells me that is EXACTLY what she was thinking, we burst into hysterics.

At this point, I tell my son he’ll always have a future in law enforcement as; according to my parents, my now cop brother was notorious for shoving various sundries up his nose as a child. Oddly, it’s his birthday today. I’ll remember to tell him how my son paid his birthday homage when I call him later on. For now, I need to think about dinner. I look over at my husband holding our phone and gazing at it with severe disdain, and my son bobbing his head away to the music that rock must have been playing in his head. I swear, it’s a disease. I just can’t help myself…

“So, for dinner, am I making the pearl onions with peas, popcorn chicken who crossed the road, and some tapioca?” The nanny and I lose it again. My son replies that my condescending make-believe dinner sounds “fun” while my husband throws rocks at me with his eyes…er, daggers. I meant daggers. I walk into my house still laughing at my sick sense of humor, oh, and at my pepple pusher. $5 more that I owe to that damned therapy jar.