"Tact"? What do you mean?

Last weekend, we held our son's second birthday party at a local park. He actually turned 2 only yesterday, but it was more convenient for all involved, supposedly, if the party were to be held the Saturday before, as opposed to today. Oddly enough, the people for whom we juggled the schedule did not show up.

I would be irritated at their absence, but last Saturday *was* a better day, weather-wise. We've received at least some rain every day since Wednesday, and the National Weather Service forecasts at least a 20 percent chance of rain every day till next Friday. Bleh. I feel like moving to Washington and writing grunge albums. The weather really has been a downer this week.

About a month ago, Son received one of those Fisher-Price Power Wheels vehicles (a Jeep) from my aunt, whose son had outgrown it several years ago. "It just needs new batteries," she told us. OK!

We bought a couple of new 6-volt batteries for the vehicle (and paid out the nose for them), but it was still for naught because they needed charging, and we do not have a battery charger yet. My mom said she'd spring for one, and actually also tried to spring for the batteries, but I wouldn't let her.

One day last week, she gave me a bag with what I assumed was the charger in it. It was only several days later that I opened the bag and realized that it held ....... another battery.

Hey, it happens.

Anyway. Back to the party: Captain and Mrs. Captain made an appearance (hooray!), and I was standing outside the shelterhouse talking to them. Captain and I were making small talk, and he mentioned something about a receipt.

The word "receipt" triggered something in my brain, and I excused myself from the conversation to find Mom, who was sitting with my grandma (my dad's mother). And I announced, for God and the whole world to hear:

"Hey, Mom? You know that charger that you got for Son?"

"Yes?" she replied.

"Do you still have the receipt for it?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because I opened up the bag and saw that you had gotten him a battery instead."

She looked offended, and I immediately realized my error: the implication, in front of everyone, that she didn't know the difference between a battery and a battery charger.

"Well, why don't you just tell everyone that your mom's an idiot?" she fired back.

"If the shoe fits ..." I thought to myself. Oh, I did not.

Anyway, I apologized all over myself, but the day was ruined, at least as far as she was concerned. Shortly after cake, she left in a little bit of a huff.

Oh well. Really, I wasn't trying to belittle her or humiliate her in front of everyone. I was so eager to remember to tell her about needing to take the battery back that I left tact at the door.

****
The party went pretty well, my idiocy notwithstanding. Son got a little red wagon, and all little boys need a little red wagon. I spent the afternoon pulling him around the yard in it (at his behest). I don't know that he got the point right away, but the last nice evening we had this week, he finally figured out the purpose of the wagon, piling rocks and other detritus in it and pulling it around.

Captain and Mrs. Captain checked in with a bubble mower. Son loved it; I've refilled the bubble soap twice since the party. It will be good practice for about six or seven years from now, when he mows for real. (What's the point of having kids if you can't make them mow the yard?)