Yesterday, when I arrived home from picking up Harvey at school, I was happy to see Hayden’s car already in the driveway as he had been out of town for work the past few days. Hudson and Harvey tumbled out of my car to hug Dad and I went around back to grab a bag of groceries. While I unloaded the tamales I had picked up for dinner, Hayden took Hugo out of his carseat and we met behind my car for a quick kiss/hug/slap on the ass. During this time, Harvey ran down the driveway to get the mail as he loves to do.
Within seconds I heard him scream. He raced up the driveway toward us and I immediately noticed he was being chased by several wasps. Knowing he’d been stung, I took the baby and Hayden raced inside with Harvey to get some ice. It turns out that practically overnight wasps had built a small nest under our mailbox and a good dozen were frantically working on it. One of those fuckers got my poor baby right on his ring finger, just above the palm. As I made my way into the house, I could hear him sobbing, “I’m NEVER going outside agaaaaiiiiin… (he’s always been a little hyperbolic)…but we need to take the garbaaaaaage out, Daaaaad!” Clearly, his top priority is never far from mind.
I took over finger icing duties and Hayden made short work of the wasps with some Raid. Seriously, fuck wasps. I was less upset about the sting than I was the visual of those meth-head wasps CHASING my 3-year-old up the driveway. Plus, you know if wasps could talk they would be total bigots and have like the most annoying whiny voices ever. I am reminded of this:
To lighten the mood, I baked. I mean, I would have baked anyway since that’s how I do, but it made Harvey feel like he was getting a special treat and no one loves sweets more than Harvey. I swear, you say cookie and his pupils dilate. So, I busted out some delicious (if unseasonable) pumpkin chocolate chips cookies and all was right with the world.
…is the title of Harvey’s favorite book by Richard Scarry. I feel like it has been the favorite book of all of the boys at some point. We read it nearly every night. I know it by rote; Goldbug haunts my dreams. If you have children, you must own this book.
I’ve already touched on the garbage truck obsession. But now, there is construction happening at the entrance of our neighborhood. So, after dropping Henry off at summer school, we came home and took a walk up the street to check it out. The trucks were at rest, though workers were beginning to arrive. Harvey honestly wasn’t too impressed. He was more interested in the riding lawn mower across the street and kept asking where the garbage truck was. I still made him pose in front of the backhoe/road smasher thingy thinking he might like to look at the picture later on.
We decided to head home and make some eggs when a miracle occurred. Down from the heavens on the wings of glittery unicorns came the garbage truck. And all was right and good in Harveyland.
Today was one of those days. Nothing in particular, but everything too. The kind of day when you question why anyone trusts you with anything.
My house is a disaster. The children have taken to creating art in the dust on the tables and TV. I can’t quite see out my window because someone smeared sunscreen on it and I haven’t washed off. I’m wearing the last clean clean pair of underwear…you know the one that somehow manages to both fall down and creep up your butt? My car is out of gas. My cuticles are disgusting and I really need my roots done. I noticed some of my flower pots on the patio have dried to a crisp. I melted cheese on bread and called it dinner.
And you know what I decided tonight? Oh fucking well. I folded a load of laundry and vacuumed the living room. AND every one of my children bathed today and it’s not even a holiday. #winning #kidsdonotcare #icecreamcuresall
Friday is garbage day in our neighborhood. For the past year or so, Harvey has been extremely interested in the momentous occasion of our bin being dumped each week and our trash hauled away. I thought this was a phase… but a year is a pretty long time when you’re 3 1/2. Rather than subsiding, I believe his interest is now bordering on obsession.
We begin the Friday countdown on Wednesday. On Thursday, (aka Garbage Eve) he helps empty all of our trash cans into the larger bin and then helps wheel it to the curb. He has also asked to assist our neighbors in this task, and because they are kind, they humor him whenever possible. Friday morning, he wakes at 6:00AM and sets up his window perch in the den…pulls up the shades and gathers a pillow, blanket, and Cheerios…and sits for the next two hours in anticipation. The joyful shouting and hopping begins when he hears the truck coming on the next street and continues until our garbage is emptied and the truck pulls out of sight (minus 5 seconds of rapt silence when the bin is actually being dumped.)
Sometimes during the school year, this timing coincides with the exact moment I need to take Hudson to school. This results in high drama….will we miss it? Won’t we? Will he still be here when we get back? The balm for this traumatic experience is the promise we will find the garbage truck upon our return and follow him for an entire street, watching bin after bin of our neighbor’s coffee grounds and diapers hauled away. I’m sure our driver is now used to the haggard minivan lady who follows him like a giant seagull…I occasionally get a head nod of acknowledgment in his side-view mirror. While we drive, Harvey and I discuss the garbage man’s home life. Where does he live? What does he eat? Will he take a nap today? Does he prefer baths or showers? At this point, we are on track for a garbage-themed birthday party. I’m thinking dirt cupcakes in mini trashcans. That’s normal, right?
And speaking of parties, Harvey’s other pastime is to celebrate….ummm, everything. He asks almost daily if I can “make a party” for him tonight. This means an opportunity wear a crown or tiara, dance, and eat something sweet. I cannot begrudge this request. I mean, HELLO. How can you not want to party with a man wearing a crown and underpants and who lets you lick frosting off his face?