"Bravo Mom. Bravo..."

Tuesday morning I did not want to get out of bed and get Zayne ready for school. Especially following a 3 1/2 day weekend from school. But I did it. I also consented to letting him buy lunch from school. It was a hectic morning. Definitely one of those "do we really have to jump back into this all so soon?" Pender was beyond defiant that I required him to wear a puffy winter coat for the school drop off. It's as if the mere 3 1/2 days had wiped his memory of any recollection of ever going through this routine before. But we did it. We got ourselves pulling down the driveway, tear subsided, by 7:47am. As I turned into the subdivision where we drop off Zayne for school, I didn't see the familiar bustle of families making the drop off. The Dad who bikes with his daughter to school and is already completed and homebound as we arrive. The Dad that has a real white-guy, urban thread to him that pays more for an apartment for the location but not necessarily the apartment amenities, but has deemed it worth it so his kids can attend this school district (No disrespect intended, it's just the most condensed way I could describe him). The Mom who drives a souped up black monstrosity of a truck, but sports the casual crunchy of a modern day hippie chic. They were all absent, as were all the other regulars, so I checked the time, 7:51am. As I pulled upon the school it was apparent that it was a student holiday. A quick check online confirmed my error. I apologized to my boys and turned the car back towards home, exclaiming that we get to have a play day. As we cruised towards our street I glanced back at the bundled up boys in the back. It was then that Zayne with a wide teasing smile proceeds to clap his gloved hands slowly and says "Bravo Mom, Bravo..." I burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and felt lucky to have him with me for another day. 

We filled the day with board games, books, Disney's Pocahontas, and cookies. After dinner, I asked the boys if any of them would like to accompany me to Costco and Sprouts. No takers. I willingly obliged, and set off to a mothers blissful oasis of grocery shopping unattended. It was about 9:30 when I pulled my husband produce laden car out of the Sprouts parking space. It was about 1 minute later when the huge monstrosity of a Toyato Tundra that was waiting in front of me in the driveway exit decided to reverse into me instead of merging onto Southlake Blvd. Imagine my stunned aghast look,  as I had 1 second to process that this big roaring truck was suddenly crunching the front end of my hubby's new-ish car. This wasn't a diet coke spill, or a blood stain (my previous plotful infractions against his vehicle), this was actual mayhem. Horrified was my expression. I'll admit it took some restraint to exit the vehicle with the self promise to converse civilly and not bitchy. As the driver appeared, my inner humorist emerged. Here was this tall, blonde,  8-month pregnant, full make-up, Texas Momma mirroring the same horrified expression I had. At that moment I thought back to the car ride that morning and wanted to respond to her with the same comical approach that my Zayne had taught me that morning. "Bravo, Mom. Bravo." But the reference would have been lost on her . So I just conjured up my civility, and maybe a bit of compassion, because we all make mistakes that impact those around us. Maybe it's a bit self congratulatory, but as I lay in bed after enduring the hubby's inquisition and inspection, with what I would consider an apologetic grace, I thought, "Bravo, Mom. Bravo."