…or should I say rocks.
This morning was one of those mornings where nothing went the way it should. I wasn’t feeling all that chipper & I had to drag myself out of bed. As soon as I was out of the shower, Evan was banging on the bathroom door saying “Will you play with me?” I hate having to always say “No, I have to get ready” but I had to dry my hair so I really, really couldn’t this morning. He mostly took my brush off in stride but then….
The meltdown began….
A wail came from the dining room. Evan cried “Mama! I can’t find my baby rock! I need my baby rock….my special baby rock!”
I dropped the hair dryer and headed for the kitchen.
“Where did you last have your baby rock?” I asked. Then I remembered…the last time I saw the rock in question was when Evan threw it at me at dinner the night before. Admittedly my “care” for the fact this rock was missing went down about 12 notches.
Evan didn’t know when he had it last & though he was very upset, he seemed very nonchalant about looking for it. You see, he wanted ME to look for it. Um…no.
So around and around we went. My hair didn’t get much drier and his cheeks got wetter. There was much crying, screaming and angst and in the end….no rock.
I realize that our housing situation has resulted in much upheaval for my little guy but REALLY? This much crying and wailing over at tiny, grey slag rock? Give me a break!