Friday, August 10, 2012
Once home, my son fell asleep and woke up six hours later.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“It’s 8:30,” I said.
“A.M. or P.M.?” he said.
It was then that I knew we were in trouble.
Fortunately, we recovered from our jet lag. Unfortunately, it was just in time to spend the weekend school shopping.
In case you have not had to do this in a while, it’s bad enough to make one want to endure a seven-hour flight next to Beetlejuice back to Alaska. No, I didn’t just watch that movie, too. My son and I actually sat next to him on the way home. At least he looked, sounded, and, I’m certain, smelled like him.
As he slipped his shoes off and starting snoring, I even tried saying “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!” to see if it would make him disappear. Alas, no such luck.
As unpleasant as it was, it still beat shopping amongst anxious kids and even more anxious moms, especially since we had to go to a certain big box store in town. Sure, their prices are low, and they have everything, but does anyone, anyone, really enjoy going there? Anyone?
Certainly not my son.