How the day spent me

Bore alert: This is a random post. If you want to go away, now is a pretty good time to do so. You've been warned.

What I planned to do yesterday:

• Get a haircut (which always involves submitting my sparse and yet utterly unruly crop over to the dresser and keeping my fingers crossed) and try to sneak in an unscheduled facial appointment.

• Drop a cheque at the bank.

• Maybe visit the insurance office and pay the overdue premium.

• Maybe pick up grocery. Noodles! Definitely visit the grocery store.

• Maybe pick up the two serving bowls that the new dinner set is missing.

• On the way back, hop into the library, return the compendium of celebrity interviews that I've thoroughly enjoyed and get an interesting book.

• Take a long, relaxing bath and adore my new haircut.

• Play with my sonny boy, help him with homework, allow him a bit of Jungle Book or Curious George time on YouTube, read him a book and put him to bed.

And then the driver called in sick. So, here's what I ended up doing:

• Made a copious amount of pesto and finished it with the help of the hubby.

• Taught the boy how to 'run' a sack race, first with a garbage bag (epic fail) and then with a large pillow case (super hit). The boy hopped all over the living room and stopped only when the pillow case ripped. But it was fun while it lasted.

• Set up a play tent without any help from anyone and without referring to the user manual. 

• Helped the boy with a bit of homework and let him watch TV for an hour. Yes, yes, judge me.

• Watched the much-hyped and much-awaited interview of Rahul Gandhi by Arnab Goswami.

Meanwhile, my hair is a mess and the only thing I've read today is the newspaper. Oh, the noodles! I'm still craving noodles. 

Yet in all earnest I don't think I'll ever drive. Really.

Get off the pot

Me: "Oh, your warm and soft fingers. The son likes them very much."
Hubby (looking smug): "Really? Why do you say so?"
Me: "I can think of no other reason for him to ask only you to wash his bum after he has done the job."
Hubby (looking crestfallen): "You are disgusting."

Just another conversation between a couple trying to teach their son how to clean his own butt.

It doesn't escape my attention that when we achieve this goal, we'll be cutting off the last tissues of the extended and invisible umbilical chord we share with him, setting him free from any physical dependence on us. Nonetheless, it's not really a shit-or-get-off-the-pot situation, but a shit-and-get-off-the-pot situation for now.