Today is The Auditor’s 36th Birthday! Yesterday, I remembered…but this morning, I forogt :) I forgot because today is Wednesday…
Little Scribbler’s first Wednesday therapy session starts at 815 am. Little Scribbler isnt usually even AWAKE by 815, let alone dressed and fed and ready to be taught something. So on Wednesday’s I have to set an alarm for us both.
This often means that I am racing The Auditor to the shower so that I can be clean and presentable and good-smelling by the time the therapist arrives. (He, on the other hand, is trying to be clean and presentable and good-smelling so that he can get to work by 830– which is fairly important because we are a one income family, so his timeliness at work is sort of related to my ability to keep warm and eat food).
On this PARTICULAR Wednesday morning, I was getting up even earlier to clean up the livingroom and mop the kitchen floor (and wash a big pile of dishes if time allowed). I feel bad having therapists in our apartment when it looks like a biohazard, so I try very hard to scrape off at least the top layer of scunge when I know they’re coming over.
Having slightly overslept, and taken a longer shower than I should have, I found myself very frazzled at 745am. Little Scribbler was still in bed, the floor was still sticky, the vacuum had not yet been run and the dishes– well, the dishes were a lost cause at this point!
So needless to say, when The Auditor emerged from the bathroom, I started assigning him small chores:
“Can you get Little Scribbler some cereal? FRUIT LOOPS?! Well if you already offered her those I guess we’ll have to give them to her” (FaithfulScribbler says disgruntledly…Fruit Loops are not breakfast, they are a snackfood).
“There’s a pile of those weird little ants we sometimes get eating the cat puke in the entryway– can you kill them for me? They’re gross”.
The Auditor begins annhialating grain weavles and picking up cat puke as I flip on the vacuum cleaner…then it strikes me. Today is his birthday.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHOP!” I yell over the vroooming of the vacuum cleaner. Little Scribbler runs by me , spilling a train of Fruit Loops in her wake, with her nightgown hiked up and her diaper half hanging off her tush.
I dont think he even heard me. I finish the vacuuming and say brightly, “Little Scribbler! Today is DADDY’S BIRTHDAY! Can you say ‘happy birthday’ to Daddy!?”
“hap birfay Daddy” she replies halfheartedly as she munches sugary, artificially colored breakfast cereal.
“Thank you Little Scribbler!” Daddy says enthusiastically.
(Hey wait, what about ME?! I said it first! She didnt even KNOW it was your birthday until I told her! Where’s MY special hug and kiss from the Auditor?! Life=Unfair).
I put the vacuum away and The Auditor grabs his shoes and coat– at this point he’s almost certainly going to be late. Oops. He heads for the door. Little Scribbler, sensing something is amiss, races after him wailing, “Daddy! Daaaaaaaaaddddddddddddddddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”
He gives her one extra hug, assures her he will be back home again after work, and wrenches the door shut. She turns to me, with big tears rolling down her face, her nightgown hanging off one shoulder and her diaper now in a precarious state of disarray and wails…
“WANT CAKE!!!!!!!! Daddy Bifday! WANT CAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Because to the Little Scribbler, Birthdays = Cake.
and I am at a loss…