You know, basic shit.
I offered the impulsive "sorry my house is a mess" as we moved toward the living room and explained that we were in the middle of organizing the garage. She was super polite about it, and then, because I have no social grace or ability to carry a logical, coherent conversation, I started talking about the fireplace.
I pointed to the wood pile in the living room and said to her, "Oh, dude, you'll never believe what T9 got into this morning." Then I reached up and grabbed an axe from the top of the refrigerator. As one does.
Her jaw dropped.
I stood there, holding the rusty old murder weapon and told her about how I was sitting at the computer working when I heard some strange banging noise coming from the living room.
Me: What are you doing T9?
After a few minutes, the noise hadn't subsided, so I rose to check on him. And there he was. My three year-old. Holding an axe and trying to chop up some wood that he found piled next to the fireplace.
How did the axe get there? I'm not clear on the details, people. But I suppose now would be a bad time to tell you what the kid did the day before with a goddamn razor blade.
As she headed out, I assured her that her son was in good hands. She peeked into the game room to say goodbye to her son when she spotted our unorganized and hastily stored liquor cabinet in the corner. Next to the Wii. Naturally.
Her: Party time, huh?
Me: Oh, yeah, THAT. Heh...it's not really put away yet...
T9: [Takes off clothing and starts eating a random slice of bread.]
Me: I swear. He's not drunk.
(In case anyone was wondering how my friend-making and mothering is going down here in Texas.)
PS: I'm elsewhere on the web today!
1. Over at The Mouthy Housewives, I have some choice words for those goddamn holiday car commercials.
2. At Mama Pop, I've created a holiday gift guide for all your favorite hard-to-shop-for celebrities.