Shamed by a 9 Year Old
Nevertheless, I am all settled back into normal life, if that’s what you would even dare to call it around my house. Not home 48 hours and I find myself ~
Shamed by a 9 year old.
But she’s too cute to be mad at.
She belongs to the The Honey. and personally, I find him totally responsible.
But…He’s too cute to be mad at too.
So, I think I’ll just be mad at myself for being shown up by this lil 9 year old. It all started at dinner and somebody brought up our past presidents. Who was good, who wasn’t, who did this, who believed that, who stood for this, who raised taxes and who merely raised eyebrows. It was amazing to me how much The Honey’s lil Honey knew. It was even more amazing at how little the Honey’s big Honey knew. (Me)
Even though my own child is the President of the Republicans Club, Voted Teen Republican of the year, Treasure of the Georgia Republican chapter and a very commited volunteer for all things Republican, I know very little about politics. This could be because I don’t bother to pay attention whatsoever and my child does. The Honey does and consequently, the Lil Honey does.
After our eye opening conversation, I decided to take matters in my own hands. I woke up the next morning determined to be informed, educated and in the know about all things news worthy. The next time I had dinner with the The Honey and his Lil Honey, my knowledge and brilliance would astound them.
So, it’s 6:00 the next morning, my children are scrambling to get dressed for school and I actually flipped on the news. What could it hurt, I would simply listen while I made breakfast. On this particular morning, I made an ’Oh So Yummy breakfast’; a bacon, gouda cheese and egg sandwich. I even took special care to make the egg yolk runny inside. I flip on the news, go about my business, the kids sit down to eat, and I take a big bite of my delicious breakfast sandwich. The news was discussing a flood our town had the day before and some people, well, they really got it bad. Apparently, the rain was so severe it flooded their sewer lines and raw sewage came pouring out onto the floors of their homes, sometimes even spilling into hallways, bedrooms and kitchens.
Oh My Aching Fanny.
I hadn’t even swallowed the second bite of my bacon, gouda and egg sandwich when the yolk of the egg popped in my mouth the same time the raw sewage was shown spilling out of some poor Joe’s toilet.
This event on that morning has the marked the beginning of the end for me. The beginning of the end for:
1. Ever eating a bacon, gouda cheese, and runny yoked egg breakfast sandwich.
2. Attempting to be in the know about the world’s happenings. After all, ignorance is bliss.
3. Worry that a 9 year old is more educated than myself. In the end, does it really matter?