A Mom's Week in Review

It started with the nail polish. The black nail polish bottle that somehow cracked open and burst its unremovable contents all over the 13 foot wool rug in the living room.
This incident was followed by explosive poo on the girls' carpeted bedroom floor.
(Never mind the fact that last month I insisted on shampooing the carpets, furniture, AND rugs in our house)
The next day was Scream Your Head Off in Public Day.(Didn't you hear?) This theme was emphasized during the muy importante phone conversation with a bank lender regarding pur potential refinance. Uhm yeah, WHAT DID YOU SAY?!
The carpool kid slammed her finger in the car door on my watch. Can we say FIRED?!
This morning, while visiting with a neighbor in the driveway, my angelic almost five year old took a pink crayon to the rims of my car. Oh hell no.
And finally, the all too unforgettable, under no circumstances does any partially sane mother offer to take a THIRD child to Costco for lunch and shopping in addition to her own tired and hungry brood (trust me, I know this NOW).
Having threatened them with their lives if they so much as thought about getting out of the cart, I managed to accumulate over a half ton of merchandise wedged in, on and between three toddlers. They sampled everything from crab dip to licorice sticks and still managed to find a reason to screech like eagles throughout the store. We added at least an extra hour to the trip in Chinese Fire Drills. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES MAY YOU GET OUT OF THE CART.
I heaved my three ton vessel up to the check out and released my prisoners....who immediately ran from me in every direction with their hands tucked inside their shirts screaming like wild ninnies and body bumping eachother every chance they got. One armless toddler fell to the dangerously hard concrete floor, her head just centimeters from a trip to the emergency room.
The checker glanced over her shoulder and then looked my aching, limp body up and down before saying, "I never drank as much as I did when my kids were that age." And then she wagged her head in the direction of the three girls, laying armless on the concrete, shrieking at the top of their lungs.
So which aisle does Costco sample the tequila shots?


The Nail Polish Incident: a 2 day disaster

On Sunday, my morning began with a bottle of black nail polish...splattered all over the wool rug in our living room. Black. Nail Polish.
It was my seventh day without a husband (harvest). Needless to say, much Shout, plenty of cursing and many beers followed.
On Monday, I awoke to the reality that despite the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol the day before, I had not escaped my life as a stay at home parent. And, after sending my oldest off to kindergarten, today was the day I had arranged a sitter so I could "accomplish something" sans kids for two hours.
It was a brilliant plan, Holly and I had agreed to split one babysitter at her house while our oldest were away at school. Half price babysitting!
I arrived at Holly's house to meet the sitter with a kid in one hand and a death grip on my cup of coffee in the other. The clock was ticking, my stomach was reeling, and the babysitter met me with bright eyes and an eagerness that only furthered my nausea.
OMG, Miller Tall Cans....
Holly had her oldest delivered to preschool and her baby asleep in the crib. She was primping for her anticipated few hours away.
I slid onto her sofa and surveyed the floor to make sure it had stopped moving while the sitter anxiously entertained Ana.
"Holly," I muttered, "mind if I lock myself in your room for a few hours and sleep this off?"
And the Mother of The Year Award goes to...



I recently received a novel sized packet from my daughter's school PTA. There was the 14 page informational, the fees, the request for donation, and then a request to sponsor another member. (Redundant me thinks)
Then the giant glossy magazine for fundraising and the nineteen sheets of incentive coupons and reports of fundraising success. An entire hour later, I emerged a more educated parent, with far fewer dollars in her pocket, a mountain of guilt on her shoulders and ink on her hands.
And just when I thought I was done, I came across the three scholastic book orders.
All said and done, I had written exactly SEVEN CHECKS. Totalling $163.74.
Then, I penciled in my volunteer schedule for working in Shelby's kindergarten room. Of course, I would have to pay the sitter to watch Ana while I was away. Another $96 a month. This public education was getting expensive. Not to mention unnerving!
Since school began a few weeks ago, I have spouted every detail of my family history, my child's health and wellness, her medical records, dental records, our insurance information, I might as well give up the details of my sex life while I'm at it to the school secretary. She better know we're practicing healthy safe sex in our household of four Caucasians with upper level college education and a history of heart failure and no food allergies. I'm pretty sure the government is now tracking us with a homing device.
Hey PTA, I'm right over here...


Pediatric Pedicures

Let me first begin by saying that I am not a woman of luxury who gets regular pedicures. I enjoy them, but they are not in the budget of a stay at home mother in a household of one income.

It all began with a trip to the lake, which, this time of year is more of a stagnant stream in a muddy basin. I took the girls for a family visit where we found ourselves sploshing through dark, dense mud and swimming in shallow water swirling with darkened silt and more mud. Upon our return, I took a scrub brush to my black toe nails. I showered regularly, I waited for my corroded, black nails to disappear.

The stain remained.

The day of our departure to San Diego, I stared at my disgusting toe nails. This would not do. A pedicure was in order. An emergency pedicure.

I devised a plan to take my active 2 year old to the salon while Shelby was away at school. The morning flew by and before I knew it I had acquired the chaos of both girls, it was afternoon, and my toes were looking blacker than ever.

I was desperate. I dragged both girls to lunch and then, armed with cookies, books and surprise toys, walked into the nail salon with the desperate determination.
One hour later, we emerged with sparkling pink toes. The girls toes were even adorned with teensy white daisies. Pleased with my success, I contemplated admitting this completely inappropriate outing to my husband. What sort of spoiled brats were we raising? Toddlers in a nail salon? REALLY!?
And before I could come to a decision, Honesty vs Amnesty, the decision was made for me when Shelby grinned from the back seat, her hot pink toes pointed straight in the air, and announced, "Mommy, I think we should do this a lot more!"


Late Night Driving

In theory, it sounded like a perfect plan: head to Back To School Night and then hit the road for San Diego after 7 p.m. The kids would be fed and exhausted, and were sure to sleep the whole way. Not to mention the absence of traffic.
Reality brought our jam-packed vehicle to a screeching halt just 3 minutes into our drive when we were corralled into one, yes ONE, southbound lane as we pulled onto the traffic jammed highway. Seething and cursing, we inched southward while the kids whined and cried in unison.
"Are we there yet?" they asked.
It wasn't until after 10 that the girls finally fell asleep, but it certainly wasn't devoid of interruption. Ana squealed on cue every 30 minutes throughout the drive and when we had to stop for gas just 45 minutes from our destination, BOTH of them awoke and refused to go back to sleep!! We pulled into the hotel parking lot just before 1:00 a.m. Exhausted, and fearful of the next hour with both girls wide awake and brimming with excitement.
"It's the middle of the night ladies," I warned, "Don't think you're going to stay awake when we get to our room. It is bedtime and the whole world is asleep!"
Bedtime was 1:35 in the morning. And yes, this was a pertinent circumstance in what proved to be a cranky, uncharacteristic performance for the entire weekend. No amount of mandatory naps or time-outs could snap them (or us) out of our 1 a.m. arrival.
We paid for that late night travel for three days.
Never again.