I have learned in the course of my life the phrase "that boy" or "that girl" or "that child" is rarely followed by good news. This isn't always the case, but as a generality, it is.
Today was a day full of "That boy" phrases.
I can always tell when Keith is tired. That boy woke up tired. His eyes were red from the get go. That doesn't bode well. I decided yesterday I didn't want to be late for things anymore. Since I have had children, I have been late. I hate being late. To the point I would rather not show up to whatever I was late for, rather than be late. With a little planning, I don't have to be late anymore, I decided.
I got me ready and Faye ready. When Keith came up, all dressed, I looked at him, and had to laugh. It was what my father had always said to me growing up. "Amy, have monsters been sucking on your head during the night? Or have you been to see Ralph the hair dresser?" His hair was poking up every which way. Like a very old toothbrush, flattened, matted down and disheveled.
I wanted to have him look decent for school. Like any mother, right? Armed with a spray bottle and comb, I advanced. And the screaming ensued. We ended up upside down, me trying to flatten the wild mass that was his hair, him doing everything he could think of to get away. It was fun, I tell you. He insisted he didn't want his hair to look like Doctor Who (his latest obsession. He had his hair cut to resemble The Doctor). Finally, he said he wanted to comb his own hair. So I relented. I had to change a diaper, anyway.
When the diaper was changed, I went into the bathroom to check on Keith, anticipating having to fix a few fly aways. That boy. I found him standing in front of the mirror, his hair caked with moose, hair gel, etc. His hair was completely white, and he was reaching for more. We would have been on time. Had it not been for that boy. The next ten minutes were spent trying to wash the goop out of his hair, and make it look decent, all the while, he fought me.
Needless to say, we were late. Because of that boy.
At school, things were going fine. Until they weren't. A boy and Keith were playing. The boy started to "rawr" at Keith, so he went over, and put his hands around the boy's neck. We have had a talk about how that is NEVER acceptable once before. I took Keith aside to talk to him privately. And holy smokes, the tantrum that ensued. The likes as had not been seen for quite a while. We had to go into a side room so Keith could scream it out. And the hitting, and name calling, it was horrendous. That boy. After half an hour of it, I was fed up. I told him he could chose to go home right then, or he could stay, and go to bed as soon as we got home. He chose to stay. Good choice, I say. He was good the rest of the day. Things went smoothly.
We got home, and he went straight to bed, no fussing, no fighting, just as he had agreed. I was super impressed. I wish he could be that wonderful all the time.
After dinner, I went up and made some cocoa for the kids. Keith came up, and as we were drinking it, he said "Mom, you have the best voice in the world. Out of all the voices ever heard, yours is the nicest and best of all. I love your voice. You should share it with everyone. Everyone should hear it. I just love your voice forever."
That boy. After a horrendous day, he makes it all better with a comment like that.