Joe had a slow morning and our cleaning lady was here today. (Yes, I'm a privileged bitch who has a biweekly cleaning lady. You may feel free to hate me if you so choose. Just know that I clean before she comes and I also scrub the toilets before she comes, because no one should have to clean someone else's toilets.) So Joe and I loaded up the kids to take them out to breakfast and then I was going to go run errands with the trio. Reese didn't want to wear shoes. Ryan was crying because he had to wear socks. Lola shit as soon as we got her strapped into her carseat.
At the breakfast place, they have a propane fireplace thingy. While I was ordering their food, Ryan ran up to it and touched it and gave himself second degree burns. Then Reese turned her juice cup upside down to drink from the straw (which must make sense to a toddler). And Lola and Reese both had assplosions which leaked through to their pants. Needless to say I came straight home and no errands were run.
A few nights ago, I had started replying to an email from Samantha (Hey, Sam!) with this little nugget of a story. But it started getting long, and I thought more of you may enjoy reading. So here you go...
Enjoy your weekends!
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My kids take a music class on Mondays. It starts at 11 a.m. and is 25 minutes from my house. Which means every Monday I wake up at 7 a.m. and hit the ground running to get all three kids and myself fed and dressed. We have to leave the house by 10:30 to get there on time and for three and a half hours I do not stop running to make that happen.
We are usually flying into the parking lot and I'm sure my minivan would go up on two wheels if it could. I try not to be late. But sometimes the kids want to sit in the living room and watch Bubble Guppies and when I try to load them into the car they throw a shit fit. Because I am taking them to music class. First world toddler problems.
Anyway, the class is in a church, like the part where they have a preschool and CCD. And Reese has been going through this phase where she doesn't want to wear shoes or a coat. And she means it. She is not going to wear them.
So for two weeks in a row I got her into the coat, but not the shoes. And let me just say that it's around 25 degrees here and we still have snow on the ground. So for those two weeks I let/forced her to walk through the parking lot in her socks. And, of course, she is crying because her feet are cold and wet (no shit, Sherlock) and I think to myself WINNING! because clearly I've taught her a lesson. Shoes keep our feet dry. We wear shoes for a reason.
Which brings me to last week. When I got to music class at 11:02 but the fruit loop that runs the class must have started early because we missed...a lot. Which pissed me off because the morning was hell and I drove as fast as I could, without getting pulled over, to get there and then I carried the car seat in while holding the twins' hands (instead of breaking out a stroller) to save time and somehow we were still fucking late.
We get through music class, which requires me to sing and dance and act generally unfrazzled with my kids, while smiling, so that the mothers with just one kid don't look at me with the sympathy eyes. And of course this is the day that Fruit Loop gives out new instruments. Four shakey egg things. And since I have no stroller today, because I was trying to save time, I am now carrying three kids and a diaper bag AND four eggs that rattle.
I get Ryan into his shoes and coat. Bundle the baby up. Get on my own coat. Let out a deep sigh and walk up to my daughter. I ask Reese if she wants to wear her shoes and she tells me no. And I try to put on her coat and she tells me NO! and then she runs away from me. My patience are thin at this point. I mean, paper thin. I'm dropping eggs, my kids are hiding around corners. The baby's carseat weighs a thousand pounds and I now have shoes and a coat to carry in addition to three kids and four eggs, because my daughter is being an asshole. And I had it.
So I laid her on the floor and straddled her with my ass basically on her face and I forced those shoes on her feet while she kicked and punched and screamed like I was stabbing her. And just to remind you, this is in the middle of a church. The school part of the church, but a church nonetheless. And while I'm sitting on my child, wrestling her into her shoes THE FUCKING PRESCHOOL LETS OUT. And suddenly there are like 22 other moms all standing around watching me wrestle and sweat while Ryan is running up and down the hallway high fiving all of the artwork on the bulletin boards and the baby is crying. And I'm still dropping eggs. Those goddamned eggs. And they are all standing there and looking at me. One mom even smirked while looking at me and said "I've so been there".
I wanted to say, if you've been here then you would have kept your mouth shut or offered to help. Laughing and thanking God you're not me, is not helpful. Thankfully some man walked in and said. "can I help you?" and I was like "YES YOU CAN!" maybe a little too eagerly as I shoved the carseat in his hands, threw Reese over my shoulder (still kicking and now trying to tear out my intestines through my coat) and held Ryan's hand in my other "free" hand, which was also carrying a diaper bag and four eggs that rattle.
We got to the car and the archangel of music class hands me my infant and wishes me luck and I shove my kids into their carseats. Reese is writhing so hard that I can't actually get her into her seat, but I manage to use the buckles to restrain her so that a.) she can't kill me and b.) she has to calm down. I mean she HAD to calm down.
Thank God for rear entertainment DVD players in minivans. I pulled down the tiny TV screen and turned up the volume. And then I sat in the parking lot of the church with all three strapped into their seats and I thought long and hard about just getting out of the car and locking the doors and leaving. Maybe forever. But instead I sat in the front seat of my Vanborghini and cried.
After thirty minutes both Reese and I were done crying and I climbed into the back and buckled her in while she laughed and clapped at Nemo. And I kind of wanted to throttle her sweet little face because it was 12:40 p.m. and my nerves were completely frayed and here this little shit is being cute and pointing to Dori while identifying all of the fish by both color and name. I drove home and sat in the driveway for another 25 minutes while the kids continued to watch Nemo. I seriously had to build up the nerve? courage? mental fortitude? to face my kids again.
In all honesty, I half expected CPS to be waiting for me at my house. Because I sat on my kid. In public. With witnesses.
I want to say that I never have days like this. But I have them once a week. Pick a kid. One of them loses their goddamned minds. They rotate weeks. I feel like they are the child version of the squirrels that cause the car accidents in the Geico commercials. All high fiving each other and shit while I mentally drive off the deep end.
We all have these days.
And some of us aren't assholes and don't snicker when we see someone else having them too.
Oh and here are some cute pictures of my kids. Who really are wonderful. Sometimes.
