I had a lovely time at my future sister in law's bridal shower. But it made me very tired. Mostly because I am old. But also because it is Sunday. And Sunday is a church day, which means Sunday is a wresting X-Man all morning day.
When at church, I prefer to keep X-Man with me, rather than the father figure, partially because X-Man and I must come to some sort of behavior understanding. One that does not involved head butts.
X-Man was relatively well behaved for me today. He prefers to be with me because I give him significantly more leeway than his father does. This is, in part, because my back is out of whack and wrestling a toddler doesn't make it any better. So I often resort to putting X-Man down. Of course that results in me chasing him, typically in heels, (me, not X-Man) and that's not so awesome for the back either. I kept X-Man in the vestibule, until I discovered that not only could he open the doors into the sanctuary himself, but that running was his default option as he hit that carpet. So we headed outside. It was only 40 degrees, no biggie. This time he took off towards the hall, shrieking "newnuts" all the way. I caught him and explained that doughnuts were only for well behaved children. This merited a head butt, that warranted a stern warning. He settled down, more or less after that.
All things considered, it went fairly well for a day that began with weeping from Mac. He was disgruntled with my clothing choice for him. He said that his sweater made him look fat. And by fat, he meant his sleeves were a bit longer than his arms. Finding sleeves that fit his arms this morning was a bridge too far, as he was wearing a t-shirt that was two sizes too small. Which made the wearing of the fattening sweater all that more important.
But Mac wasn't finished. As we settled in our pew, before X-Man decided he needed to run free, Mac turned to me and said, in his oh so quiet voice, "Well mom, I just peed a little bit in my underwear so I think you should take me to the bathroom." The people behind us didn't even try to suppress their laughter.
Meanwhile the father figure and I are still locked in a dispute. Listening to the radio yesterday he identified a song as a Beatles song. I argued strenuously that it was most definitely not a Beatles song, although I didn't know what it was. I just new it wasn't Lennon/McCartney. Sure enough, the song turned out be "Band on the Run" which I gleefully pointed out to the father figure was most certainly not the Beatles. He maintained that as it did involve McCartney it was the same thing. I adamantly disagreed. He tried to change the subject, which is a sure indicator that he knows I am right, but he won't actually admit it. I still can't stop laughing at the concept that Wings is the same thing as the Beatles.