Mothering Mark

Mark worked 13 hours on Saturday.  I lovingly (important adverb added for self aggrandizement) packed him a lunch and then we told him we'd pick him up during his dinner break and take him to Apollo Burger which is nearby the theater.

Emma was working for part of that time and instead of eating his lunch, he and Emma got Zupas.  I had even tallied the carb count of that lovingly packed lunch. 

Emma was getting off work at the same time Mark was having his dinner break so we took her to dinner too.  Emma and Mark were talking over each other and eagerly telling tales and I love just listening.  Grown up children are interesting and tell good stories.

We took Mark back to work and later, Mark texted that he was exhausted and not feeling well.  I texted back, asking if he felt well enough to drive home.

He said he did.

Text if you're not and I'll come and get you.

Won't you be asleep?

Oh, that.  Text Dad.

My aspirations to be the kind of mother you can text late at night to come and get you don't match my reality.

Mark left his (lovingly packed) lunch at work accidentally.  Then he went downstairs and fell asleep on his bed, fully clothed, shoes and all.

Adam got him into bed and told him to sleep in.

Sunday morning, Mark and I sat on opposite ends of the couch and I rubbed his feet and he told me about work.  He was telling me a story and said something about Gucci and then paused, "Gucci is an expensive brand."

I said, "Did you just explain to me what Gucci is?  Because I know."  Mansplaining + teensplaining are quite a combination.

"Well, I didn't know if you knew.  You're old."

I may have pinched the toe I was rubbing.

He said, "Back to my story..."