I woke up Solomon and laid out his clothes. In my Jack Bauer voice I say, "Solomon! We have less then 20 minutes to put your clothes on, brush your teeth, spike your hair... and eat breakfast. Can you put on your clothes, brush your teeth, spike your hair while I go get your breakfast started?" (Really I wanted to add chest hair to my turkey, but he didn't need to know that.) "Can you do it Solomon?"
Solomon says very dramatically, "YES MOTHER! I CAN DO IT!"
So I made a crazy dash down the stairs and threw a Pancake and Sausage corn dog in the microwave and poured a glass of milk. Then I walked over to my creative laboratory, AKA homework table and I can't help but smile when I see my Turkey just sitting there. I whoop out the black marker and am about to go to town on this turkey's chest when I hear Bubba come in. (Bubba is my baby brother. Bubba is an artist!) Bubba's magic touch is just what this Jive Turkey needed. So I walked over to Bubba and handed him the sharpie marker and I said, "Make it happen!" I don't know when Bubba grew a conscience... but I had to argue with him for a second because he started talking ridiculous about how this is supposed to be Solomon's project , that he should be doing it, and some other nonsense like that. It took everything in me not to back hand him. My nostrils must of been flaring pretty big, like Ice Cube big, because he grabbed the marker and reluctantly adorned my turkey with some chest hair.
Solomon descended down the stairs all ready to go like a big boy. We take his Pancake Corn Dog and Milk to go. When I usually walk the kids to class, I always have to come early to find a parking spot and fight through the sea of kids and parents, but today I was out of time and in a rush. So I am doing my Jack Bauer voice in my head and asking myself... Do I park in the street or take my chances in the parking lot? What do I do? What do I do?? Finally I bust a U Turn to park on the side street and Solomon decides to remind me that I am a horrible parallel parker. He is right I am... but right now my adrenalin is pumping and I miraculously parallel park perfectly. We get out and we run. In my left hand I am holding Mr. Jive Turkey and in my right hand I am dragging Solomon by his backpack. Of course he is whining but I had to get to that class room to scope out the competition and get my smiles and comments from everyone.
Extremely out of breathe I burst through the door like a ttornado only to find Mrs. Coley and her entire third grade class already on the carpet sitting quietly. A little embarrassed I set Mr. Jive Turkey on Solomon's desk and very nonchalantly scan over the other desks to see what the other kids had done. The kids must of still had them in the backpack or something because I only saw one or two turkeys. Well since my Jive Turkey had a backdrop... I felt real happy and accomplished, so I started to walk out the door and I had this huge smile on my face... like I just conquered world peace or something and then I saw it. The rain on my parade. The dagger straight to my heart. A straggler.... an adorable little boy walking to the class holding his turkey (Think Jerry Maguire Kid) and he had this huge goofy cheesy smile (I recognized that smile because it was the same huge goofy smile I had on.) only his turkey was covered with buttons and rocks. I have no idea what it was supposed to be, but it was very obvious that his dysfunctional mother did not do it for him. He was so proud and so excited to turn in his turkey. I did not recall Solomon even the littlest bit as excited as I was to turn in the turkey.
Here is the actual confession part. Yes... it gets worse. This is the part where I lose some notches on my parenting belt... where you will look at me with disgust and the part where I will lose my Mother of the Year Title for the tenth year in a row. I get weak at the thought of admitting this out loud...
Solomon made a turkey by himself... a bumblebee. But since I am always over the top and probably a bit psychotic, I talked him into letting me do another turkey. He did help me a little bit... he sprayed the fro cotton balls and colored the turkey's shirt. But I know it is not the same thing.
You don't have to tell me... I am living in my own personal Hell of guilt. I hate Mr. Jive Turkey and what he has made me.