I've backed myself into a corner. Literally.
I've mopped myself into a corner so I can write.
It's time to ramble a story out, because I've got the itch.
Once upon a time ago, when baby bear was little, I'd mop to give myself a mom's time out. I'd say, "I'm getting ready to mop the floor so you can't come in the kitchen" and I'd have about fifteen minutes of quiet. Then to the tune of are we there yet, I'd hear, "Mom, is the floor dry yet?"
I stumbled across this photo and it brought back memories. I'd taken this when he'd returned from Louisiana with Papa Bear. I had rearranged his room, touch up painted, bought new wall decor, window panels and a small TV.
One night in those days, the television became part of a bad dream and I'd have to cover the television up each night by placing a shirt over it. I didn't mind the routine. He never saw Poltergeist. If baby bear wanted me to cover up the television every night, no problem.
He's officially six feet tall now. I can't really use the alias baby bear anymore. He will be turning thirteen next month. Shall I call him my man cub? I think that'll work.
So man cub worked with us this weekend at the Marine Corps Balls and he made some money. This morning he put on a pair of jeans that we bought him before school started and as he was leaving for the bus he said, "I feel like I have on dad's jeans. Can I start buying my own clothes?"
School shopping with a retired Marine and an almost teenager was really hard. Papa Bear was not feeling today's style. I had to gently referee but we did not win in the skinny jeans department. Man cub doesn't realize that he doesn't have a skinny jeans body, but I'm sure there is something more stylish we can find, other than dad jeans.
We went to the mall last week and what he liked I wasn't paying for. Flashback to saving up $50 for a pair of Guess Jeans that my mom wouldn't buy. He'll get specific gift cards next month for birthday and Christmas and he can buy the $50 skinny joggers that are bunched if he wants to. They're ugly. They remind me of skinny hammer pants. Somewhere someone has a picture of me in hammer pants. I bought them specifically for a concert, then I remember wearing them to several 1989 parties.
When a problem takes care of itself...
At the end of the 6th grade school year, man cub brought home registration paperwork for the 7th grade trip to Washington, DC. I did not register.
The same paperwork came home in September with a fee schedule for paying off the trip by March. I mentioned it to Papa Bear. I said, "I don't want him to go."
I went on the same trip in the 7th grade and the life long memories are something you'd want your own child to experience, but things are different now.
I'd be surprised if our current president would take pictures with the 7th grade class as Jimmy Carter did with us. But even so, I don't want my son to be anywhere near him.
So anyway, this weekend man cub said, "About the 7th grade trip, I don't really want to go now." I said, "Oh really? Why not?" He said, "None of my friends are going." I mumbled to myself, whew.
You really can't even say, "dogded a bullet" now without cringing at the pun.
On a lighter note...
Well a different subject altogether...
Do you watch Stranger Things?