So yesterday was The Boy’s 10th birthday, and he wanted to take Krispy Kreme doughnuts for his class at school. He needed them by lunch time, so I drove 20 minutes to the closest Krispy Kreme (aka Doughnut Nirvana) location and pulled up at the drive thru to order.
I remembered that his class has 26 students, so I ordered two and a half dozen – enough for the class, his teacher, and a couple of extras that I hoped would come home. Before I drove off, I even thought to ask for enough hats for the whole class.
Are you with me? 30 doughnuts. 30 hats. 26 kids. I’m all over this task.
I drop everything off in the school office and leave, checking the task off my Good Mommy list with a flourish.
When I pick him up after school, I ask if everyone liked the doughnuts. His answer?
“Yeah, but we almost didn’t have enough!”
(Me: doing the cartoon double take, with that wonky sound effect.)
“What? Why? How many kids are in your class?”
“32. But it was okay, ’cause two were sick today.”
(Me: Hail to the flu/cold/mystery virus that kept two 4th graders at home today! Thank you, you beautiful sweet bug – mwah, mwah, mwah – you totally saved my Good Mommy ass.*)
And then I realize. There was no way his teacher got a donut. Fanfreakingtastic.There she was, face to face with 30 fresh-off-the-line original glazed, and you know how good they smell? And she didn’t even get one.
(Me: Digging my phone out of my purse and dialing. School office lady answers, and I ask, “Yes, um, could I speak to Miss B, please?” Voice mail kicks on because she’s screening my call and who can blame her, really. “Hi, yeah, this is Boy’s mom, and I am so sorry about the doughnuts! Blah blah, etc.”)
Then The Girl climbs into the car.
“Sweetie,” I ask her. “How many kids are in your class?”
Right. Too bad it wasn’t her birthday.
*I would never celebrate sick children, let’s be clear. They were probably skiing in Aspen, anyway. You know I’m right.
On Facebook this week, I bemoaned the spectacular (though temporary) crash of my blog a few days ago, and the subsequent time-sucking repairs, with this status update:
Jennifer would just like to point out that Virginia Woolf didn’t have to know this crap (re: blog maintenance).
My friend Veronica, who you may know as V-grrrl commented:
It’s the price we pay for wanting a URL of Our Own.
Best response ever, and it made me laugh. I love wit like that.
I read this post on BlogNosh the other day, and laughed so hard my kids came from the other room to find out what was funny.