Today’s post is from my friend, the one and only…
She is a regular contributor to EpicParent because of her parenting insight, her “poop” humor (because poop is always funny) and because she loves Jesus and her family more than life!
Be sure to check out her blog HERE.
Michelle, it’s a true honor to have you post for EP!! You’re truly gifted, my friend.
So here’s Michelle…
Getting out of my house for any given reason is a serious lesson in the art of patience. We are perpetually late for every single place we need to be. While my friends have all come to expect me to never ever be on time, I feel really bad when I’m late for something like soccer practice (where we’re actually PAYING MONEY for a child to participate.) That is why I nearly popped a vein the other afternoon trying to locate my son when it was past time to retrieve my oldest monster from the (expensive) after PreK program.
I had inevitably gotten caught up in whatever it was that I was doing on Monday afternoon and had completely lost track of the time. (Shocker!) Before I knew it, my my preschooler’s ”after-hours” sesson was ending and I needed to put the pedal to the medal in order to pick him up. I called my little one’s name over and over again to get in the car but got absolutely no response back from him. The blaring music coming from down the hall was a clear indication that he was most likely rocking out in his room to some Imagination Movers or Veggie Tales Sing-a-long and couldn’t hear me.
I barged into his bedroom only to find a blaring radio playing in a dark, empty room. What the?! Where the heck was this little monster??!! I then went from room to room repeatedly shouting his name as the clock ticked farther and farther past the time I was supposed to pick up Mr. Grouchy Pants. I knew he clearly didn’t disappear into thin air, but after ten minutes of unsuccessful searching throughout the entire house, I was actually beginning to wonder if I had a little Houdini on my hands.
I contemplated how much to sell the kid for on eBay as I mumbled and grumbled my way back down the hallway one last time to re-check his bedroom. Not there. But then I heard some faint thumping coming from my bedroom and as I stepped closer, I also realized that the lights were going on and off in there. I tip-toed towards the direction of the thurmping and and heard what sounded to be Lady Gaga behind my closet door. I whipped open the closet door and nearly peed myself laughing at the sight that lay before me. There in the very back of the walk-in closet was my son, booty a-shakin’, disco lights a-shinin’. He had my oldest’s ipod and had stumbled upon “Poker Face” and was flickering the lights to the beat as he shook his hips to and fro. Through fits of giggles and even a tear or two, I somehow managed to ask what on earth he was doing, to which he matter-of-factly replied, “Having a dance party! ” Cause the closet is where that typically takes place, ya know.
YOU ARE INVITED!
WHAT: A disco party!
WHERE: In the closet!
WHY: Why not??!!
Needless to say, my anger wore off pretty quickly. Cause honestly, how can you be mad at that? Wouldn’t life would be a heckova lot more fun if we all stopped and took the time every now and then to have a disco party in the closet?
Parents…are you exhausted, worn out, loosing your mind? Do you feel like every now and then YOU need to have a disco party in the closet? Would love to hear your story!