Something really weird happened at my house last night. I was home alone.
At first I wasn’t sure it was real so I walked around the house looking in all the rooms and getting verification. That my sound strange to you but there have been several occasions where I have been home sitting on the couch and a child that did not belong to me would walk up the basement stairs and into my living room. Michael would be at some practice and the kids would wake up and come upstairs. At first when I knew my child was not home I made the assumption that his friends left as well. Not always the case and it keeps me on my toes and fully clothed at all times.
So last night after I verified that I was indeed alone in my home I got a little freaked out. What does one do when they are home alone? I haven’t been faced with this dilemma in such a long time that I had to stop and think.
First thought was to dance around the house in my underwear to some eighties music. That lost a lot of steam when I remembered just how many of Michael’s friends have our garage code. I am going to be spending enough money on my kids therapy bills I don’t need the increased pressure of paying for the “OMG I saw Mrs. Eller dancing in her underwear” therapy sessions for some teenage boy. I have seen myself and that image is good for at least ten visits.
Second thought was to have a bottle of wine. That fun idea came to a screeching halt. Since there was no one at home that meant everyone was out “keeping the roads hot” as my dad would say. I had a quick vision of my self having to go to the ER in a drunken stupor to see one of my kids and having to take a stern lecture from a middle aged bitter CPS lady about being a neglectful parent. Just imagining the look on her face was an immediate buzz killer.
So with naked dancing and drunk taken off the table as options I chose another route. I sat down to a chick flick with a bowl of Lucky Charms. I had forgotten how much I loved those. I made sure I didn’t make my old childhood mistake of gobbling up the marshmallows only to be left with the cereal. I strategically ate only one marshmallow per bite because that’s me playing it safe on a Friday night.
To my teenager readers I know it sounds sad and pathetic but this is life in the forties with kids. Sometimes the Lucky Charms moments are all we get and we have learned to be happy with them. After all don’t forget they’re magically delicious.