Mayhem, My Friends, Mayhem

I'm starting to think having a boy child is God's inside joke -- on me.

Just as my dad laughed (long and LOUDLY, not that I'm sensitive) when he asked about my son's behavior this morning, so maybe my Father God chuckles to Himself as I stumble through only the beginning of a lifelong fight with will and insolence -- mine and the kid's. ("It's good for her," He just might be saying. "She'll be fine. And all turns out well in the end." Well, I like to think....)

This week, however, it is particularly difficult to allow any further amusement at my expense. Or any further expense!

Tuesday afternoon, Miles spray-painted my car.

Yes, my car.

MY [admirable show of self-restraint here] CAR!!!

I'll post a picture later, as soon as I have time to upload.

Suffice it to say, no amount of contrite behavior would really make this situation OK, but I've had to take what I could get. And I didn't get a lot.

He didn't bother to deny it (good), but he told me "my skeleton made me do it" (bad).

He did seem A LITTLE sorry when I was freaking out mid-driveway. (I know the child believes I'm the model for Mo Willem's pigeon books. A black squiggle appears over my head when I'm mad, and my one red eye bugs out and everything!) By the end of the school day, however, Miles had completely forgotten to act like he screwed up.

I just don't know, folks. I just don't know.

It all mayhem here, all the time, lately. We're off schedule and clearly overwhelmed. JB falls asleep at 8:30, after just getting home at 7, but the boy lies awake an hour late, talking to Star Wars figures he hides in his covers. I stay up too, too far into the night, watching Project Runway while I fold 2 pieces of laundry every 15 minutes and clean the occasional kitchen utensil during a commercial break. Light sabers and house shoes litter the living room floor. And, even so, I was pretty OK with this lifestyle until I noticed my gray car now has white paint on it.

So I'm running away from home tonight. I have a date with my friends A., S., Joaquin and Reese (or, as they are known on-screen, Johnny and June). I'm gonna walk the line and come on home (I think), but hopefully not without one very cold martini.