How could I forget?
I had just made a Facebook update about it, for God’s sake.
But it was true.
I had forgotten to put my son in green for St. Patrick’s Day.
And he had just left for the bus stop clad in jeans and a blue shirt.
That just would NOT do.
Kids are horrible, horrible creatures these days. And my son bruises easily. Yeah, teachers would probably make an announcement saying that pinching was not allowed. But kids are sneaky and pinches would most definitely sneak in.
I couldn’t let that happen to Tommy.
So I ran at top speed to his room and yanked a green shirt down from the closet. I was panting heavily as I did this which proves how out of shape I am. I ran outside, thinking that Tommy would already be at the bus stop. But no. He was still in our driveway, observing something in the grass. Thank God for his ADHD. It’s why I send him out to the bus stop early because I know he’ll totally take his time since he gets distracted so easily.
He’s sort of like those shirts that say “They say I have ADHD but I don’t think so—hey, a chicken!”
“Tommy!” I shouted, gripping the shirt triumphantly over my head. “Tommy, I found you a green shirt. I FOUND YOU A GREEN SHIRT!”
Woah. Calm down, Amber. I was all pumped up from the rush.
Tommy stared at me with wide eyes.
“What are you DOING?” He did not look happy to see me which I found to be a little rude. Did he not SEE that I had a green shirt with me? And that with the green shirt I was saving him from potential pinches? Okay, I’d have been mortified if my Mom had done this. But my mind wasn’t thinking clearly since it was the morning and all. Have I mentioned that I am NOT a morning person? I’m either half asleep or I’m....spazzing out.
“I found you a green shirt, Tommy. You’re not wearing green. So…” I started lifting off his old shirt because he only had a few minutes left until the bus came.
Tommy held his old shirt down. “MOM. I can’t change here. There are PEOPLE…” And he nodded towards the group of kids waiting at the bus stop across the street. Most were talking and didn’t even know what was going on with us. But a couple were gazing over with interest. One girl shouted, “You okay, Tommy?” What, if he had said no would she have run over and taken me down? (She probably could. I’m also weak first thing in the morning.)
“Fine. Behind your Dad’s truck,” I said, pulling him over.
“But I don’t want—”
“Green shirt, no pinches, green shirt, no pinches,” I chanted. Why wasn’t he freaked out over the prospect of pinches? Did he forget that he bruises easily? Maybe I was traumatized because one time I didn’t wear green on St. Patrick’s Day and this awful kid named Gert pinched me so hard that I had a gross welt on my arm for over a week.
Tommy reluctantly took his old shirt off and put the green one on.
“There,” he said, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulders. “I’m going now.”
“You’re welcome!” I said pointedly.
Tommy blinked at me.
“Say cheese!” I said and brought out the camera.
Doesn’t Tommy just look thrilled?
At least he didn’t get pinched.