One of my all-time favorite movies is The Sandlot. One of the best lines: “You’re killing me, Smalls”! I often find myself saying that to one of my boys. Last night, I said it to each of them.

Last night was their Christmas program (yes, they go to a public school and yes, the school called it that). We live about a mile from the school and along the way is a Dollar General, the only place within about 10 miles to buy food.

So, with those details in mind, here’s the story that transpired within less than the two minutes it takes to get from our house to the school.

As soon as we got in the car a funny smell wafted to my nose. *sniff, sniff* “What is that?”

“What’s what?” Henry, my youngest, asked.

“That smell?” I take another sniff and wrinkle my nose. Something does NOT smell right. “It smells weird, but I can’t place it.”

“Oh, it’s me,” cackled my twelve-year-old. “I put a dab of your pain relief cream on my hands.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it smells good,” he said.

“Seriously? Are you trying to tell me you want some cologne for Christmas?”

“No. I don’t want the girls all over me. I just like the way this smells.”

It smells like Menthol. That is NOT a good smell. Resisting the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel, I muttered, “You’re killing me, Smalls.”

About this time, my youngest goes, “Mom, I need to bring food for the party tomorrow.”

Now I want to bang my head against the steering wheel for a different reason. I didn’t bring any money. Why? Honestly, it was simply because it was so warm out that I forgot my coat at home that had my cash and debit card. Spotting, the Dollar General up ahead, I reached one hand into the cup holder and pulled out my spare change, shook my head and said, “You’re killing me, too, Smalls.”

The lady in Dollar General giggled right along with me when I apologized to her for buying not just one, but two bags of cheese popcorn with an array of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. Seriously, I love my kids–as is obvious by my humiliation of buying snacks with sticky change–but sometimes I swear they’re killing me!