So, this is a little exchange that went terribly, terribly wrong yesterday.
LOLA: Honey, will you please find Kort's team on this photography schedule? I want to put his picture day on the calendar so we don't forget.(Kort had brought a soccer team photo-form-thingy home from practice with him last week.)
THE HUBS: Sure.
(He starts looking...looking...still looking... and then.)
THE HUBS: Oh no.
THE HUBS: It was today at five.
LOLA: WHAT!!?!!!??? (It was 6:30 at the time.)
THE HUBS: Yep. It was today at 5:05. We missed it.
Lola, (who was rinsing and loading dishes at the time) starts slamming around the kitchen...and then proceeds to start bawling. (Curse these bloody postpartum hormones of mine!! Curse them all to heck!)
LOLA: Why didn't someone call us and remind us?! (sob, sob, blow nose) Why can't I freaking get it together enough to schedule these stinkin' things before they happen!? (sob, sob) Now we won't have ANY official pictures of the year he ACTUALLY played soccer! (sob, sob, slam cupboard door) He won't be in any team photos! (sob, sob, clang trash can lid) No one will even remember that he was there! (sob, sob, fling dirty silverware into the sink.)
*Have I taken a moment to curse these postpartum hormones of mine yet? Oh, I have? Well curse them again! (and again.)
I am sick to my stomach.
A quiet (as in verrrry quiet) and somewhat sane voice in the back of my head insists that this is not such a big deal, and that these hysterics are the hormones talking, and that this soooo isn't the end of the world... or anything even close to it...but I just tell that little voice of reason to go stick it where the sun don't shine and then I climb in bed and sob some more... (Doesn't being married to me sound like fun?)
In fact, I haven't even gotten to the best part!
About an hour later, when I feel I can keep it together, I emerge from my room sniffle-y, red-eyed, and mopey. I start clearing off the dining room table for dinner (which, by some miracle, I had actually managed to prepare that night) and find the soccer picture schedule staring up at me menacingly. (What an awesome word, menacingly). I snatch it up off of the table and crumple it into a ball so that I can fling it angrily into the trash can. Then, for reasons I cannot explain or identify, I think that I should look at it...you know, just to be sure.
And there it is. Kort's team number...scheduled for... SEPTEMBER 2nd!!! What?! That's TOMORROW!
LOLA: Kyle, this says that his pictures are on the second!
THE HUBS: I know, today is the second.
LOLA: No...today is the first!
THE HUBS: (totally speechless...jaw on the floor)
He feels horrible.
He is stunned.
He even calls himself a "numb-nut..."
A word which, I'm pretty sure, I haven't heard since Jr. High.
A word that Kortland thinks is the funniest thing he's ever heard.
A word that I must then insist that Kort not repeat...ever.
A word that still makes me laugh as I type this.
And also makes me laugh when I am by myself and
remember that the hubs said it.
Meanwhile, I am so happy that we DIDN'T miss pictures,
that I really don't even care about the
hour of crying I just did. Not at all. Not even a little.
I needed a good release anyway,
and breaking out the "Old Yeller" or "Bambi" VHS-es
all in the name of getting a substantial cry off my chest
seemed a little extreme.
Don't you just HATE those movies? Eeesh.
Welcome to Crazyville.
I think we Dugovics have decided to set up a permanent residence.
Stop on by sometime! Crazy sure loves her some company!