Every Wednesday, my son’s preschool has Show-and-Tell to work on the “letter of the week.”
Last week, for example, the letter was “H.”
Nugget brought a headlamp to school.
“This is my HEADlamp. Huh-huh-headlamp.”
You get the picture.
Now, I’m not the most organized mom in the world. So this morning, I woke up like: “OH CRAP, it’s Wednesday?! What’s the letter of the week?”
*scrambles through paperwork*
“Nugget, quick! Go find something that starts with the letter D. Like duh-duh-DEE. Go!”
Nugget came back rather quickly with his favorite Spider-Man umbrella.
“How about dis umbrella?”
“Umbrella starts with the letter U. Uh-uh-umbrella.”
He shakes his head vehemently.
“No, mommy–DIS umbrella.”
I’m trying not to pee my pants and embarrass him, and also I’m still hustling to pack his lunch, so I’m like, “Well that’s pretty close, kiddo! But “this” is T-H. TH-TH-THIS.”
Looking slightly dejected, Nugget sets his umbrella aside.
“Try again, baby. The letter D. Like Duh duh DINOSAUR.”
His eyes light up and he goes “OOOOOH! Let me outside, Mommy. I know JUST THE THING!”
This is where I tell you that for the last three days, I’ve been complaining that our porch smells horrible. And my husband has nodded his head like, “Uh, huh. Right. Smelling things again, honey?”
Which is also how he denies his farts, but anyways….
We go outside and Nugget immediately runs to his secret chair where he keeps his “collection” — rocks, bugs, and that kind of thing. You know how kids are.
He points down and exclaims: “How bout MY DEAD BIRD! DUH DUH DEAD BIRD!”
And he’s reaching and I’m screaming and dry heaving.
“OH MAH GAHD SON, don’t touch it! HAVE YOU TOUCHED IT? HOW LONG HAVE YOU HAD THIS?”
I am ready to bleach everything in sight, including my son and his bloated dead bird, and now we are late for preschool and still have nothing to bring for Show-and-Tell.
“Go get your doggy. Duh duh DOGGY. Go inside and get a stuffed doggy right NOW. Make it quick.”
He ran inside with his mouth all twisty because I am the worst mother ever for saying he can’t bring a birds corpse to preschool for Show-and-Tell.
And I’m flinging the dead bird over our fence, dry heaving, and wondering what the heck else is in this collection when he returns, carrying something fluffy.
“Mommy, how about Dis animal?”
I breathe in deep. It’s either a dog or a cat, but who cares–it isn’t rotting flesh, so I approve his selection and off to preschool we go. Twenty minutes late.
The letter D, y’all.
As in, today, Mommy is DEAD.
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