My level of organization yesterday surpassed my usual by a longshot.
I had armed myself with a checklist before leaving work yesterday. After all, it was hubby's birthday, and I wanted to make sure I did everything the right way (as opposed to my way). I even made a grocery list to make absolutely sure I missed no detail or left any variable to chance.
The boys, correctly sensing my insistence on MY WAY, minimized their pushback as we made one, two, and finally, three stops. (I momentarily lost G on stop 2, but that's actually par for the course. Nic border-collied him back to me, under the disapproving glare of another mom and a store clerk).
At the supermarket, we haggled over cake.
"Chocolate," Nic insisted.
"Nuh uh," I answered. "Not your birthday, and we have strawberries, and I think dad wants a strawberry shortcake."
G located a pound cake. I couldn't find a ready-to-go angel food cake, so that would do.
"Chocolate sauce," Nic parried.
Done. "You need to pick out a card," I told Nic.
He zeroed in on one that looked like a license plate. "Old Fart!" he exclaimed, causing everyone in the aisle to gawk. "This is the perfect card, mom, it will make him laugh."
I added it to our goodies with a sigh, mentally reminding myself to tell dad who picked the card out.
At home, Nic went into howling overdrive with a problem he "needed me to fix RIGHT NOW."
After several minutes of yelling back and forth, I talked directly to God while I put together the marinade for the steak. "Seriously? What did I do so wrong in my last life that you're kicking my ass for now?" I wanted to know. I went on in this vein for a couple of minutes before Nic realized I wasn't yelling back at him anymore and came into the kitchen.
"Who are you talking to?' he asked.
"God," I replied. "I'm asking Him what I did to deserve you and your yowling."
I had to remind him. He started again. "YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!"
I handed him a colander filled with snap peas and a saucepan. "You have to help me first," I told him, setting him up at the dining room table. "I have dinner to make, and you can help by snapping off the ends and putting them in the pan."
He fuliminated in the next room while doing his assigned job. "This is hard work! This takes a long time!" and so on until he quieted down and started up again a few minutes later. "Hey, this isn't too bad!"
By the time I finished everything I needed to do, Nic was nearly done his job. We did the last dozen or so together.
"It goes a lot faster when there's two," he observed.
"Everything does," I answered. "Thank you, you did a great job. Now let me help you."
Hubby came home and pitched in to finish dinner while we set the table. He loved his cards, even the one Nic picked out for him, and enjoyed the dinner and cake we made for him.
"It was a really nice birthday, thank you," hubby said to me as we fell asleep.