Thanks everybody for the concern. There really was a bomb at their school, but the little goombah forgot the detonator. Small mercies--criminals really are dumb, that's not bull. But I've followed my kids' example and have conveniently forgotten any angst over the subject--I suppose our life is often a series of near misses. Dwelling on them only diminishes the time between hits, right?
So, let's move on to how totally embarrassing it is to be me. Besides the astronomical pants size, there's shopping in Target with three kids, while the oldest tries to set a world record for how long one kid can wear the same pajamas before his parents freak out on him. Let's look at yesterday, shall we, where the following conversation between me and several Target employees could be heard.
(me) "So--have any of you...heard or seen a commotion pass by?"
(them) "What sort of commotion?"
(me) "Well, it sounds like a tazmanian devil being tortured by trolls, and it looks like a red-headed twelve-year old chasing a three-foot tornado."
(them) "No...have you tried paging them?"
(me) "Yes...didn't you hear it? They said "Bryar Rose, please drag your brother to the food court.'"
(them) "That was you?" (screaming off stage)
(me) "Yeah--and that's them...excuse me...I gotta go rescue my kids."
However, Bryar and I did keep our perspective. As we were splitting a pretzel at the food court, I said, "Hey Bryar, look left."
She did. "Wow, mom--my life could be worse."
To her left was a family--two parents, four children, aged six months to four years. They were all boys. Gimme hallelujia sister. Amen.