In all fairness, I should say that my kids, overall, did a fantastic job of being good helpers with happy hearts today [I’ve discovered that threatening to take away their bikes for the day is a huge motivator! What will I do when winter comes??] Only M found a way to get into trouble [shocking], using sidewalk chalk to write on his clothes and body and then returning to the house to wipe his hands on the carpet. Because why wouldn’t you, right? He promptly got his butt thrown in the bathtub, grinning all-the-while. Typical.
With a birthday party on the docket, we spent the rest of the day running all over creation in search of last minute gifts and dinner ingredients, subjecting the kids to such “drudgery” as produce shopping and going to a tractor supply store. We returned home and to my dismay, I realized I had neglected a few items of business. While I would like to blame this on dementia or low Gingko levels, today I was straight up unorganized. Looking at the clock I saw that we had a half hour to accomplish three remaining tasks. Could we do it? With such a blissful morning and stellar track-record, I was certain the kids were up for the challenge.
Coke-deprived and stressed to the max [perfect recipe for a headache], I started hollering for everyone to get shoes on, again, and get in the car. Racing around the kitchen, I grabbed a $20, smashed it into my purse, whipped on my sunglasses and flew out the door.
“Is everyone buckled up?” I yelled over my shoulder.
“Yes, Mom,” they replied blandly.
Without double checking for shoes, seat belts, pulses, or the presence of unwanted materials, I roared out of the driveway at 4:20, knowing that one of my stops closed at 5; it was going to be close. Windows down and wind twisting through our hair, I sped [not really…but kind of…] to the store. Nearing the stop sign, I came to what I would call a “totally appropriate” stop: I eased up on the gas well in advance, gently applied the brakes, increasing pressure as we neared the corner. Perfect–I noted that the invisible driver’s ed instructor next to me happily checked the box on his clipboard next to “proficient.”
What I hear, though, is “Whooosh, clunk.”
Followed by, “Uh-ohhhhh.”
“What just happened?”
“Well, um…M just….uh…there’s bees,” said my daughter.
“What?? What are you talking about?” I asked, still frozen at the corner, glaring into the rear view mirror.
“M brought along honey bees [crackers] and they fell on the floor.”
“How many fell on the floor? How many are there in the box now?” At this point my jaw is clenching just a bit, and I wonder if it’s possible for adult molers to crumble under the weight of such crushing pressure.
“There’s none in the box,” my daughter gladly reports [glad that she wasn’t the one who brought them.]
“There’s none in the box?”
“No,” Barbara Walters informs the car. “They’re all on the floor. The whole box spilled. M wasn’t holding it when you stopped and it just dumped all over.”
Heavens TO Mergatroid.
I lit into a rant [yelling over top of the wind, of course] about how we’re *never* going to be able to get a new car if this is the way they treat our old one, and “just wait until your dad sees this”, and I can’t believe M even TOOK an entire box of crackers into the car–he should know better! He’s THREE! He should know that crackers spilled and smashed all over our car = a white-knuckled mom with red eyes and elevated blood pressure. [Nevermind that I didn’t inspect their carry-on items before boarding the vehicle. Let’s skip over that minor detail].
Fast forward to errand #3: the Credit Union. I had to go inside for lit-e-rally FIVE minutes. Five minutes! Is that too much to ask?? Apparently, yes.
While I took care of our business, I asked the kids to “quietly play” in the children’s area, a dreamy little nook with books, legos, and a chalkboard-topped table. Again, I failed to inspect the details and had by now blissfully erased the memory of the morning’s chalk debacle with M.
As I spoke with Julie, I hear a crash behind me.
Very nice. Love that.
I suavely ignored the commotion with an air of “Whose kids are THOSE?” We finished our conversation just as M fell down and whacked his head against the chalk table. This is followed by the kind of scream that’s injected with long periods of silence.
Screammmmiiiinnnnngggg [long silent breath] Screammmmiiiiinnnnnngggggg……
Ah. These trips are just so relaxing. Such a bonding moment, just me and the kids hanging out at the Credit Union.
I’m at a loss for words. Not only did he actually hurt himself, he dumped over the chalk and still managed to get it all over himself—again.
What’s a mom to do?
Ban chalk, ban bees, ban trying to run 3 errands in 30 minutes with 3 kids.
Sometimes hopeful thinking just isn’t enough. I should have known.