Tuesday, August 01, 2006


"Oh, Shit," said I, thinking that this was the one off thing that happened during my so far uneventful day.

It started out fine. A nice morning of cuddling with Turbo and Bear, who absolutely insisted I sit down so they could cuddle with me in front of Thomas the Tank, while Daddy, up early for coffee, expressed his dislike of Gordon, the grumpier train of the lot. We saw daddy off to work, and got busy. I dusted (yes, actually, dusted) the china cabinet, the ceiling fan (if you have a ceiling fan, take a look at it when it's not moving... the horror lingers) cleaned off the windowsill and actually windexed the sliding glass doors and kitchen window. The kitchen isn't really clean yet, but it's well on its way. Got dressed, in, for one, a really cute outfit that screams 'happy suburban mom thrilled with the color palette considered acceptable for the modern mother' and went to Subway for a quick lunch before dropping Drama off to her two hour art camp. All is well.

Kid dropped off at art camp, check
Go to library, pay for destroyed Thomas book and insist two books listed not returned were returned, check
Go to Fred Myerland, drop kids off at playland and get essentials, check

All is well

Pick up kids, check.
Put groceries in truck, check.
Uh oh. Forgot to fax paperwork.. fine, Fred Myers has a fax machine, turn around and

"OH SHIT" I say, as....

The bottle of wine I jsut bought fell out of the back of the truck and splattered (luckily, none of the wine actually hit me) glass and wine everywhere. Ugh.

I started picking up and moving the glass while old ladies come over and shoo me away (old ladies, apparently, aren't offended by "OH SHIT" in quite the way some younger women who happen to be moms, are... They go get help. Help arrives, one donning a carriage girl vest, another is just a civilian extra who for some bizarre reason, is helping the new girl out, despite the fact she doesn't actually work for Fred Myer. Whatever. She offers to stay with the truck and make sure nobody steps in the glass and suggests I go get a new bottle of wine, because she's sure they are good about customer service. So I go back in, because I have to fax something anyhow, and hell, might as well see if they hand out bottles of wine to idiots that can't load a truck right. (Yes, they do)

That was the best part of the next 30 minutes.

I fax my papers, get the replacement bottle of wine, and am now waiting for the fax to go through. All of a sudden, Turbo stands up and wants OUT of the back of the carriage. Okay, fine, if it'll shut him up... he plays under the carriage. I make a mental note not to step or roll over him. Then, Bear wants his shoes off NOW. He takes one off and yells for his shoes to be off. Fine, it's summer. I take off his shoe. Now, he wants out, but he can't get out of hte carraige, he has no shoes. So I hold him, and he just just lets out this bloodcurdling wail of misery, anguish, suffering, and absolute injustice. I end up just holding him. It's easier and we are ALMOST done. Okay, now we're done.

"Hey Buddies," I say, with the kind of cheerfullness that takes several years (I've practiced with Drama) to perfect. "Lets go get sissie!" Okay, Bear is on board, but Turbo, Turbo has decided to be cute. He's going to CRAWL and not walk. Um, mommy's on the clock buddy, get up. NO. I drag him to his feet. He drops back to his feet. I say, fine, crawl. And speed up going 'bye bye Turbo,' "No Mommy wait up" ahh, I think, victory, now he must be running to catch up, but wait, I don't hear the normal pitter patter of running feet, so I turn and instead, speed crawling. Okay good enough. Whatever. So I walk, but then turn around, and OH NO. He's decided to CRAWL BACKWARDS which means he's going in the opposite direction, sliding along the floor. I walk over, leave the carriage and my purse and new wine, drag Bear, lean over, and pick Turbo up under his shoulders, half-dragging him along ot the carriage where I put shoeless Bear down, and dump Turbo in. I pick Bear back up. We walk. Turbo lets out a blood curdling scream almost but not quite as potent as Bear's earlier one. Then stands up and LEAPS out of the carriage at me.

So now.

I'm carrying two 30-pound sacks of misbehaving imps.
Pushing a carriage with my stomach.
And and the worst?
Having to SMILE back at all the people smiling at me.

I get home, thinking they are worn out. No.

I am worn out, they are not.

In an act of despearation, I take them to the park, where Turbo runs faster, longer, harder than any other two and a half year old, even exhausting Bear, who usually can match his brother, but then the two exist by harvesting the power of the sun... It's 5 p.m. I'm still exhausted and they are NOT.

someone help me....


Jean-Luc Picard said...

That was a good definition of motherhood.

Suburban Turmoil said...

Yep. An average day in the life of a mom. ;)