By the time I had been awake for 20 minutes, I was already a sweaty mess. We had our end of the year staff picnic for which I had signed up to bring an uncomplicated veggie tray and bottled water. Somehow I managed to complicate things and I found myself shoving bottles of water into the freezer an hour before the picnic when I realized that no one would want to drink water that had been roasting in the back of my car for the last 12 hours.
Then I got a call that an agent wanted to show our house. It was just late enough in the day that I probably could have rushed home from the picnic to clean the house up, but - in an attempt to avoid more sweating and cussing - I decided that it would behoove me to prep the house before the picnic so that I wasn't stressed for time with tired crabby kids.
Faith (who is doing so much better! HALLELUJAH!) was perturbed with me for not being willing to hold her every waking minute and Lila - bless her - was trying to "help" me. With a resounding chorus of squawks from the Small One, Lila "helped" me make her lunch (got in my way every time I crossed the kitchen and kept taking out random items from the fridge), she "helped" me get Faith ready (pulled out a bunch of Faith's clean clothes from her drawers and brought them to me as possible outfits), she "helped" me open the windows (an unneeded task seeing as I had just turned the air conditioning on so that our house was nice and cool for potential buyers), she "helped" me change the table cloth (staged a counter-attack every time I pulled the table cloth to one side in an attempt to even it out resulting in a sort of apathetic tug-of-war and the table cloth heaped on the ground). The table cloth incident resulted in me raising my voice at her to "STOP HELPING ME FOR THE LOVE" which made her bottom lip pop out and her brown eyes spill over. Which, in turn, resulted in me leaving the heaped table cloth on the ground so I could pick her up and apologize and acknowledge that she was trying to help, but that sometimes it's just easier and faster for Mommy to do things by myself. She clung to me for a good five minutes while I walked around the house trying to get things picked up. Faith, still staging a protest from her bouncy seat, glared at me and howled each time I walked by holding her sniffling big sis.
With the house clean, I had managed to wrangle both children into their carseats when I realized that the dog had to come with us because of the showing. As I hoisted the cooler of now luke-warm rather than boiling hot water bottles into the back of my car, I calculated the amount of space I would have left for my double stroller once the dog was in there, too. Just enough. I hoped.
Lila declared that she needed to bring her baby's stroller (which was jam-packed with odds and ends and every trinket she owns) to the park and threatened the return of the lower lip when I questioned it's necessity. So, cooler with water bottles, veggie tray, two children, large dog, double stroller, purse, grocery bag with Faith's bottle stuff and Lila's lunch, Lila's stroller, and a sweaty, greasy-haired, grumpy mommy all crammed into the car. Which is when it started raining.
It only rained briefly and I think mostly to punctuate the if-it-can-go-wrong-it-will theme of my day, but it was just enough rain to get Lila worked up about whether she'd get to play at the park or not. So I'm driving along thinking that, despite the internal cussing and external sweating, I was pretty pleased with myself for getting to the picnic on time. Until I pulled in and saw everyone already there and set up and I realized it started at 11:00, not 11:30. Curses. Oh well, me being
We pull in and the dog starts freaking out. I'm hollering at her to stay in the back and Lila's yelling the names of all of her friends from the window and waving like a maniac. Faith is staring contentedly into the mirror affixed to the back of her seat (evidently she had forgiven me for ignoring her all morning). As I'm getting Lila unbuckled, she informs me that she doesn't want to get her stroller out after all because she might lose all the stuff she's crammed in there (typical). I sigh an "okay" and give her strict instructions to stand in the grass while I get Faith strapped into the stroller. As I walk around the back of the car, the dog - in her excitement/stupidity/panic/desire to feel the my wrath - leaps from the back seat ONTO FAITH and I just lose my mind in fury. Faith is fine, just a little surprised to have the dog in her lap all of a sudden, but I am just beside myself, yelling at her like she can understand me and she's just staring at me dumbly. I pull Faith out of the carseat and inspect her for injuries - none, thankfully - and I strap her into the stroller and turn on the dog who - from the guilty look on her face - has figured out from all the yelling that she shouldn't have taken a flying leap onto the baby. She's cowering away from me and I'm trying to pull her out over Faith's carseat so I can get her leash on her. Which is when another dog walks by and Franny tries to make a break for it. I collapse onto her in a sort of clumsy tackle, wondering why we even have a dog, before she can get very far and miraculously we emerge in one piece, albeit all thoroughly traumatized.
The picnic went smoothly enough, but Lila was having a hard time by the end. She's in this phase where she likes to point and grunt at me rather than use words so we have a daily battle of wills when I insist she speaks and she points and grunts emphatically with a stubborn frown on her face. It's really fun (sarcasm). As I load everyone and everything back in the car - wondering if it was all actually worth the stress - I get another call about another showing for later in the afternoon. The two showings are close enough together that it's not worth going home between them so I reroute to my parents' house.
As I pull into my parent's driveway, Lila is whining about being hungry, Faith - who should be whining about being hungry - is staring transfixed at her own hand floating in front of her face and I am realizing that I am not equipped for the afternoon.
Inside, I take stock and realize I only have two diapers for Faith and half of what we need for Lila to take a much-needed nap. In the end, I stretch one of the two size three diapers on my three year old in lieu of the Pull-Up I didn't bring, pray that Faith doesn't poop and convince Lila that she can make do for one nap time without her beloved Birdie Blanket. She falls asleep after a short but passionate protest and Faith and I retreat to the family room.
I take a deep breath, thinking I will finally get to relax and regather myself. Faith is restless on the floor and wants to be held so I pick her up and she shows me her gratitude by head-butting me and giving me a bloody lip.
And this, my friends in the only evidence I have of the kind of day it has been:
|For your sake, I cropped out my greasy hair. You're welcome.|