Page 6 of The Parent Playbook
“Edgar, you furry little anarchist,” I mutter, spotting him by the doorway with what unmistakably looks like my missing proposal hanging from his mouth. The edges are already decorated with his signature chew marks. I march over, trying to keep my cool. “Come on, give it here, you walking paper shredder.”
Edgar meets my approach with a defiant bleat, a sparkle in his beady eyes. It’s a standoff, ranch style. With a swift, practiced move, I manage to retrieve my now slightly soggy document from his mouth. “Thank you,” I say, dripping with sarcasm. “Your input is always so enriching.”
He chews on the remnants of what was probably last week’s feed schedule, completely unfazed by my sarcasm. I look at the proposal in my hands, the top corner lovingly gnawed. “Great, Edgar. Just great. Let’s hope the foundation appreciates your critique as much as I do.”
Only at Happy Horizons Ranch can your financial forecast be threatened by a goat with an appetite for paper. If only I had an accountant. As I smooth out the creases, I decide this document now has character—and a story. I could add a postscript about Edgar’s endorsement. A little barn humor couldn’t hurt, right?
I finally sit down to go through it when my cell phone rings, and with it, a stomach-drop of dread.
I’ve assigned that ringtone to only one person—the babysitter.
“Hey, Angelica,” she croaks out, and from the sound of her voice, I know my evening plans are about to nosedive. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got the flu. I can barely stand up.”
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “Okay, but hear me out … what if you just lie on the couch and we strap a GoPro to the kiddo for safety monitoring.”
“Angel, I have a fever of 102.”
“Sure, but,” I have to give it one more try, though I’m alreadylosing hope, “is it astrong102, or more of a watch-old-episodes-of-I-Love-Lucy102? Because there’s a big difference.”
“Let’s say you could fry an egg on my forehead.”
“Okay, okay, last offer, how about we set up a quarantine zone? Like a little bubble boy situation? He’s always wanted to try that after seeing it in a cartoon.” I can picture the bewildered look on my son’s face if I actually proposed the idea to him.
She’s trying to catch her breath as she laughs, probably from both the flu and the absurdity of my desperation. “Angel, you’re hilarious. But I can’t get out of bed without feeling like I’m going to pass out. I’m so, so sorry.”
Defeat. And the hockey season hasn’t even started yet. “Of course, I get it. Don’t worry. Focus on getting better, okay? And avoidI Love Lucy. Your laugh-cough is pretty rough.”
“Will do, Angel. Again, I’m really sorry.”
I hang up and turn to face my son, who’s giving me a look that’s a little too hopeful for the situation.
“So, I guess I’m tagging along. Does this mean no cursive homework?”
“Nice try, but we’re talking about your life of crime later. Right now, I’ve got to figure out what to do with you.”
“I could always stay on my own …” Andy wiggles his eyebrows.
“We’ve talked about this already. You only just had your twelfth birthday and you haven’t done the first aid course on how to set your own broken bones. Plus, I don’t know what time I’ll be out until, so all that adds up to babysitter or bust.”
His face scrunches up. “Why can’t I just come?”
“Because it’s a big fancy event with the hockey team. Media and mingling. And it’s not kid-friendly.”
He grimaces sympathetically. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”
Doesn’t he know it.
I trudge into the house, the weight of the evening suddenlyfeeling heavier. Looks like Andy’s coming with me and I’ll have to figure something out once we get there.
I hate every second of squeezing into tights that feel like they’re conspiring against me. A dress I haven’t worn in ages somehow feels both too tight and too loose in all the wrong places and my hair refuses to cooperate, ending up in a messy bun that’s more mess than bun. As for makeup, a swipe of lipstick and a dash of mascara will have to do.
The mirror says it’ll do, but I’d rather be in sweatpants, plotting the downfall of elementary school roof access. But duty calls, even if it’s dressed in uncomfortable clothes and tipping over the edge in high heels, much like my patience.
Time to buckle up. With Andy in the passenger seat. And all this to face a room full of dudes with silver spoons so far up their behinds that they’d never understand why a boy might feel the need to save the planet, one school roof at a time.
“Wait here.”
It’s more of a plea than a command, but Andy knows that tonight is a big deal, even if I don’t want to be here. He may get himself into trouble, but he—mostly—respects his mother.
