Satan Speaks, I Listen

Last night, Crazyman's daycare provider sent home the monthly newsletter. I have now dubbed this newsletter "Satan Speaks."

This month's issue tells us all about how this week is Dr. Seuss week and that he will need to wear his crazy socks on Wednesday and bring his favorite stuffed animal on Friday.

The she tells us about the freaking two weeks she will be taking off this summer with one of them being paid. Paid by us. Fantastic. No really, that was one of my favorite parts. I get it, everyone needs a vacation, but two weeks back to back. Oh the convenience of that is unspeakable! (Bartender - another round please, this is a red letter day!)

But that wasn't my ultimate favorite part. No, the part that I will be highlighting, reading, re-reading, making a collage out of, printing on t-shirts, taking out billboards and carefully cutting out, gluing to a little doily heart with glitter, oh so much glitter and putting under my pillow at night so I can have sweet dreams about those fun little words - is the part where, even though she admits it won't be popular, the kids are no longer allowed to bring personal objects and toys.

I get it. I really do. But do you know who does not get it? Who is not at all reasonable about it? Who would actually prefer to tear off my face, rather than hear the very rational words I'm uttering, words that sound very much like, "you cannot take the ball with you today"?

The first attempt at explaining the new policy this morning resulted in him not brushing his teeth. I saw the logic there. Perhaps if he just handed me the toothbrush back then he could take the ball.

Makes total sense. (Yes, I'll have a Bud Light, please.)

Until he threw himself on the floor and ended up in his bed until I was done getting ready. Somewhere in that mix he managed to half undress himself as well.

Then he came down the hall, ready to go, with a baseball glove and not one ball, but two. Sensing the challenge I manned up and actually got him to put the glove and the ball in the toy box.

The BALL, not BALLS. (Yeah, just leave the bottle, there's a big tip in it for you.)

At this point, I actually see no sense in going any further. All I'm going to say is that the results were AMAZING and complete with my kid tossing himself into a snowbank, sans coat, minus hat and the newly created policy being repealed JUST FOR HIM.

I compensated for the whole thing with ironic music selections for the drive into the office. I let Dave Gahan's voice swirl around me and encourage me to Enjoy The Silence. And then? I went straight into this.

Because it truly is a fine day.


UPDATED: Do you ever do something stupid and with little thought and THAT is the thing you get noticed for?

All the time.