We interrupt our regularly schedule pre-trip report to bring to you a special report:
A slice of life at our house.
As you know, DH is a police officer. It makes for an interesting life and not many dull moments. As most cops do, he keeps her hair very short, which means about every three weeks he gets out the clippers and just about shaves his head. OK, keep that scene in your mind. (Sorry. I know its a rough one but I promise it will mean something later.)
This week has also been Turn off the TV Week at Ems school. The students promise to turn off their TVs for a whole week and read every night from 7:00 to 7:30. If a teacher comes to your house and catches you reading, you get a prize. Ok, the stage is set. Here we go.
Its 7:00 at our house. Em and I are reading in the living room (with the TV off.) DH, having cut his hair, is proceeding to the front yard to hose off his head. (He swears thats the best way to do it. The shower doesnt work well enough.) Yeah, the only hose is in the front yard.
Em looks up at me and says, I sure hope Daddy comes in quick. The teacher might see him.
DH ( in the front yard with his head under the hose)is thinking to himself , I sure hope that teacher doesnt stop by tonight.
And at that very moment, a car slowly passes our house, and upon seeing our brightly colored Mickey Mouse mailbox, stops, backs up and pulls into our driveway.
DH now has a dilemma. If he attempts to pop inside to hide his half naked body from said teacher, he could be accused of warning Em that the teacher is coming and thereby ruining her prize. If he stays where he is, half-dressed and dripping wet in the front yard, the teacher may question the safety of Ems home life and our ability to parent her properly. He decides to be a man and take the hit for Emilys prize.
Now if this had been Emilys teacher in our driveway, it would not have been so bad. She and I have sons the same age and have known each other through school functions for at least seven years. She understands the strange and mysterious ways of our family.
But no, it is at this moment that Em and I hear through the front window, Good evening sir, Im Dr. Principal. Is Em at home?
Yes, thats right. It is not Ems sweet, understanding teacher, but the principal of the entire Elementary school. Shes never met DH before.
Em and I have dealt with her before. At the mother daughter book club, She asked Em how she liked the book Dr. Principal had chosen herself. To which Em, replied, I didnt. It was boring. Shes not said much to us since then.
DH shook her hand and escorted her to the front door. I opened it , apologized profusely for the hairy, (no, not on his head, the rest of him) wet, crazy man in our front yard and invited her in. She only stayed for a moment, congratulated Em on being caught reading, greeted our cats (our cats demand to be greeted by new guests), and commented on our antique furniture. (Antique is a nice word for hand-me-downs.) She told us it had been a nice visit, because shed never been in this part of our neighborhood before. (DH told me later he started to tell her the best place to buy your crack is just down the street, but thought better of it.)
I guess she wasnt too traumatized. Maybe shell block it out. Traumatized people do that . It didnt bother Em at all. She was just excited about getting her prize. And what was the prize we all braved embarrassment for?
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A cup with a pencil, a bookmark and some Hersheys kisses in it.
Oh well, thats just another night at our house.