Hijo and I had the day off together yesterday. It could not be described as a love-filled fest of mother and son bonding.
The day was ours except for one errand that I had to run. It was a simple errand, consisting of needing to go downtown (all of a mile from where we live) and pick up the envelopes for the invitations to my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party. This errand, in any normal circumstances would take about fifteen minutes.
However, Hijo did not want to go. He passionately did NOT WANT TO GO. He refused to go. He could not be cajoled. He could not be reasoned with. He could not be beaten into submission. He could not be bribed nor threatened nor convinced in any way that I could conceive of. Nice mommy didn't work. Mean mommy didn't work. Evoking his beloved Grandmother, for whom we were performing this simple task, didn't work. He suggested I just leave him at home. I considered it. But he's not quite old enough to stay home alone, even for a brief errand. Not to mention the fact that by this time there was no way I was backing down. It was a classic power struggle.
This went on for the better part of an hour, my frustration building. I explained to Hijo that we were wasting more time talking (arguing, whining) about this errand than if we'd actually just done the errand in the first place. Finally, we left the house, braving the wind and rain, only to arrive at the stationery store and have her tell us that the envelopes weren't there and she was oh so sorry she hadn't called me up to tell me.
I did what any completely frustrated frazzled grumpy mom would do at this point: I started to laugh. And then we went and bought lasagna and brownies.