I know the phrase “I Can’t Even” is a bit overused, but SERIOUSLY, I.CAN’T.EVEN.
Who in the world does something like this!?
Evidently my kids, that’s who.
Allow me to back up.
On Friday evening I had a fantastic night out with some great friends. Thatch had hockey practice and on the way home the boys grabbed fried chicken and ice cream to celebrate a mom-free night.
Flash forward to Saturday. Finn had 8:00 am hockey, we took the dogs for a long romp on the beach, raced home, had Thatcher throw on his hockey gear, and tried to get out the door on time to get to Pingree’s rink up in Hamilton for a 12:20 start time. The boys declared they were STARVING just as we were leaving and when I told them to quickly grab something, they frantically grabbed the left over bag of chicken, 2 yogurts, and a couple of apples. Good enough.
We got to Pingree with plenty of time to spare, but with another game underway and a school event to boot, parking was at a premium. I dropped the boys at the front door and went to go park by myself. It didn’t hurt that alone time in the car is a slice of heaven. Once the Jeep was snuggly tucked in between two other hockey parent SUVs, I took to grabbing what I needed for yet another chilly hockey game and to making sure that the boys’ water bottles weren’t spilling on their iPads. Imagine, if you will, my horror upon turning around and finding this display of disgustingness on the back seat armrest.
I was almost incredulous. Almost.
Degrees of car nastiness have been of issue since the boys were old enough to eat in the car. I know plenty of families who do not allow snacking in the backseat, but I’m not going to lie, we’re on the go enough that it is somewhat of a necessity….like on Saturday. I’m certain that a better parent…with some better planning skills…could have fed his/her children a wonderful home-cooked meal in between two hockey games and exercising the dogs, but I am surely not that parent.
So, this is what I get.
I can’t quite explain just how torn I was. I have a fair share of OCD so the thought of leaving the chicken carcasses for the boys to pick up went against every fiber of my body. However, I’m pretty strict with the boys, and the thought of picking up that crime scene for them was equally as disturbing.
I opted to take photos, clean it up, and begin preparing the dissertation that would surely take up the entire ride home….while also crafting a new list of backseat rules that will last for all of about one week (speaking from past experience)….and planning a bit of public shaming. Hence this blog post.