My son’s track clothes and compression shorts . . . now clean
When I picked up C.J. after cross-country practice earlier this week and asked him how his day went, he didn’t mince words.
“I was so mad at you twice today!”
Now, I’m used to being blamed for just about anything and everything by my three guys, but this time I couldn’t remember what I might have done to raise my younger son’s ire.
Me: “What did I do?”
C.J.: “First, you didn’t wash my track clothes and put them in my backpack. Coach yelled at me for not having them. And then you didn’t give me any compression shorts. I had to run three miles during track athletics (last period) and three miles during practice in my boxers instead.”
Me: “Ouch! Sorry to hear that. Refresh my memory . . . at what point yesterday did you ask me to wash these track clothes?”
C.J.: “I put them on the washing machine!”
Sidebar: Last time I checked, our washing machine doesn’t feature an alert that lets me know when something placed on it needs washing. Anyone have one of those?
Me: “Did you tell me they needed to be washed?”
C.J.: “I think I did.”
Me: “Not only did you not tell me, but there were no clothes on the washing machine when I did laundry today.”
Sidebar: He actually had put them in the laundry hamper; a nice feat in itself, of course.
C.J.: “Well, I thought I did.”
Me (switching modes from listening to lecturing): “Next time let me know in advance when you need something washed. And at age 15, you’re old enough to pack your own compression shorts.”
Sidebar: I think C.J. automatically goes into eye-rolling mode when I pull out that “at age 15 . . . .” chestnut.
Me: “Are you still mad at me?”
C.J.: “Yes! I’m willing to take some of the blame . . . .”
Me: “No, you need to take all the blame!”
But he wouldn’t, of course. Sometimes it’s best as a mom to just let it go. He won’t have an ulcer; I will.
Mom can’t do anything right
C.J.: “I was mad at you at lunch, too.”
Me: “Why was that?”
C.J.: “They sold cookies today.”
Me: “Good thing you had the $3 I had tucked into your lunch bag!”
C.J.: “Yes, but I didn’t see the third dollar and thought I only had two dollars. After I bought two packs and sat down to eat, I saw that I had another dollar.”
Me: “So you saved it for next week?”
C.J.: “No, I went and bought another pack. But the cookies didn’t taste as good.”
Me: “And you’re mad at me because . . . .”
C.J.: “Because I thought you only gave me two dollars!”
You know, it wasn’t worth continuing that conversation. But I’ve got to admit, I like that my son thinks about me while he’s at school!