I managed to plant my foot firmly in my mouth yesterday. Well, I manage to do it most days, but yesterday was a particularly good one.
I've mentioned the seven kids under five that filled my morning; and by and large, it wasn't as bad as it might have been. They made some messes and did fight over the video games. But they've done worse. Much worse.
Right before Motor was scheduled to get here, I was in the kitchen washing dishes and heard a knock. I figured it was Motor, and so did the kids because they all started shouting, "Motor!" as they made their customary mass stampede down the stairs to open the door. I performed my usual Runt greeting by shouting from the kitchen at pretty much the top of my lungs:
"You ugly, old nerd! Get your big booty upstairs and let's have some fun!"
Imagine my horror when I turned the corner from the kitchen and found my neighbor's mother coming up the stairs. She had arrived to pick his children up and take them back to the hospital to meet their new sister.
Ooops.
Marshmallows and crackers all over the floor, a blanket/pillow fort in one corner, and a full half dozen Destroying Angels hauling butt down the steps to answer the door unsupervised. Then there's me, standing at the top of the stairs in my customary house togs of flip-flops, sweat shorts and a less than spotless t-shirt that was soaked from the navel down with sloshed dishwater. The poster-perfect image of a semi frazzled househusband in his natural habitat.
Probably not my finest moment.
To her credit, she did not seem the least fazed by my um...creative greeting?...and she thanked me for taking care of her grandchildren. I apologized profusely, and she seemed to understand, but I'd love to have been a fly on the wall when she got back to the hospital and asked her son if he knew exactly what kind of lunatic he'd left his kids with.
But I'm sure I'm the only one of you that's ever had a day like that, right?
Gotta go, the job hunt beckons and I must answer her siren signal...
