Hoarders: Minivan Edition

My children have a talent for sensing when I am running late to a very important meeting.  The more important our destination; the higher the likelihood that someone will need to poop, fall down and injure themselves, or be completely unable to locate their pants as we are trying to desperately get out the door.  They get this from their father, who when I was in labor with my third child went inside to find his wallet after we'd loaded all the other two kids in the van only to emerge 25 minutes later freshly showered and shaved.

Usually the thing that holds us up from reaching our destination in a timely fashion is my children's inability to locate shoes, which is why on any given day it is imperative that I have at least 13 pairs of shoes floating around my minivan.  I have tried to remove the shoes, and it always ends badly.  It always starts the same way.  I know I've cleaned the van recently, so I make an effort to ensure all of the children leave the house with shoes on their little feet.  I even do a visual inspection as they leave the house; however, inevitably one of my kids always manages to make their shoes magically disappear off of their feet during the 10 yard journey from the front door to the van.  Unfortunately, I'm never aware such a magical vanishing act has occurred until we reach our final destination and the child with that magic disappearing shoes utters, "Uh-oh," as he exits the van.  When you are a mother of small children, hearing "Uh-oh," when a child is exiting a car is about the same as being the captain of the Titanic and seeing a giant iceberg.  Your ship has just officially been doomed to sink.

I have no choice at this point but to do the mommy walk of shame and attend my important whatever with a barefoot child.  This is always fun because I know people are looking at me as I walk into the building and thinking, "Oh no! Look at that poor child without shoes on.  You can tell his momma doesn't love him.  I just hope she doesn't keep him locked up in the basement and this is his only day out this month." In the end, I always end up buying a cheap pair of shoes to get us through the rest of the day.  Last year, my middle son was late to school 3 times because we had to stop at Walgreens to buy him a pair of flip flops to get him through the day.

Even if we do make it to our final destination with the shoes for each child, I always end up screwed if we don't have a back up pair.  Last fall, I was taking the children in for their flu shots, and by some miracle we were actually running a little early.  I didn't want to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary in the pediatrician's waiting room, so I decided to stop by the park on the way.  Everything was going great until I loaded everyone back up in the van and noticed a god awful smell.  Colin, my oldest, had managed to step in dog poop.  I handed him a grocery sack, told him to put the offensive shoe in it, and we headed to the doctor's office.  When we got there, I realized we had a small problem.  Colin didn't have a spare set of shoes in the car.  At this point I had two choices: I could let him go barefoot or I could let him track dog poop all over the waiting room floor.  Not liking either of those options, I came up with option number 3 and made him wear his shoes with the grocery bag tied around the nasty one.  When we entered the waiting room, every adult eye in the room immediately focused on the bag.  Not wanting the curiosity to get the better of anyone, I rather loudly informed the whole room that he had stepped in poop, and went about my business as usual.  The kids got their shots, and then we headed home where I fumigated the offensive shoe.

So now I have simply made my peace with being the mother in car pool that holds up the line because she has to get out and retrieve all the junk that falls out whenever the doors open.  My children rely on that junk and unfortunately, it would appear, so do I.

The Worst Mother

My children just accused me of being the worst mother in the world because I wouldn't let them swim in the pool without adult supervision.  Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure the worst mother in the world would've said, "hey go for it!  If you drown, I'll just find a new baby daddy, and have a couple more kids to replace you."

The Trip

I'm pretty sure I just had the most successful trip to Wal-Mart ever provided you judge success by the number of people you made smile and secretly thank god that they aren't you on that particular day.  The shopping trip was doomed from the beginning simply based on our shopping list which included wart cream, jock itch ointment, foot fungus spray, tampons, and a giant box of batteries.  I knew we were off to a great start when I was getting the children ready to make our pilgrimage to store, when the baby, 2 year old Annabelle, absolutely refused to surrender her nightgown in exchange for a clean outfit for the day.  Time being of the essence, I ultimately gave up trying to negotiate her out of it and loaded her up in the car in her old nightie complete with its cheeto stains and three day old odor.  

When we arrived, I decided to make sure we attracted as much attention as humanly possible, and put Annabelle in the backpack carrier.  I'm not sure why I become such a sideshow attraction when I do this, but it never ceases to be a crowd pleaser.  Continuing with our theme of whatever the opposite of inconspicuous is, I made the idiot mistake of parking by the entrance that automatically sets any mother up for trip failure upon arrival because you have to pass by the toy department in order to get anywhere else in the store.  Nothing says "incognito" quite like a 5 year old whining loudly, "pretty puh-lease can we just look?", as they trail behind you at the speed of molasses.  

I was able to secure the jock itch ointment in relative peace unless you count having your child loudly inquire, "Mom, is that the stuff that's supposed to make my balls feel better?", bothersome.  The wart cream required a pow wow with the pharmacist because they like to hide it where no one can find it, but I was able to locate the tampons on my own much to my children's delight.  Tampons have fascinated them ever since during one very long wait at the AT&T store, I made the mistake of letting them sit on the floor with my purse.  Everything was going real swell until I saw something white shoot past my face, and my oldest son yell, "Wow look at it go!  Hey Mom, I didn't know you had rockets in your purse!"  I'd like to say I was so embarrassed that I left the store, but the truth was I ignored them and was thankful that they'd found something to amuse themselves with that didn't actively involve breaking something in the store.  They have been in love with "tampon rockets" ever since.

Later, we discovered the redneck tank tops were on clearance, and Tyler, age 5, couldn't pass up getting in on that.  I was also conned into buying princess juice cup things when the kids threw them in the cart unbeknownst to me, when I was attempting to ascertain what brand of batteries offered the best bargain that day.  

On the way to the checkout line, I had a lady stop me, offer a look of pity, and say, "I feel real sorry for you."  I think it was because the baby on my back had my oldest son in a head lock and my 5 year old was riding the back of the buggy like it was a skateboard.  It might have also had something to do with the fact that when the baby had twisted in the backpack carrier my tank top had gotten caught up and my bra/boob were hanging out for all to see.  Whatever the reason, I figured it was truly an accomplishment to make someone feel sorry for me in Wal-Mart especially the Monroe Wal-Mart.  That takes real talent; after all, Wal-Mart is usually the place I go when I want to feel better about myself.  

I had more help than I really required in the self checkout line.  The boys were bagging up my groceries faster than I could scan them, which caused me to have to forcefully (read louder than I meant to) remind them to slow down so we didn't accidentally shoplift.  This of course drew the attention of the lady manning the self checkout line, and she spent the remainder of our checkout experience trying to simultaneously watch us like a hawk, and not laugh so hard she wet herself.  When I attempted to bag the princess beverages I didn't know I was buying, Annabelle loudly protested on the account that she desperately needed a "Rella" (Cinderella) to hold.  At this point, everyone in the self checkout lane had stopped to watch our little sideshow, so I obviously didn't want to disappoint my viewers.  I stopped what I was doing, opened up a beverage for Annabelle and Tyler, if sister was going to get one, so was he, then finished paying for my order.  

So yes, our trip to Wal-Mart was a total success.  I'm pretty sure we made just about everyone else in the store feel a whole lot better about their day.

Proper Receptacles

I'm getting old. I bought a new trash can yesterday for the porch, and I was almost a little giddy when I set it up. I splurged on one of the big ones, so I'd have somewhere to throw away all the junk that's to big for our normal kitchen trashcan. After I set it up, I had a blast walking around the backyard and picking up all the junk that had accumulated out there while we were without a proper outside receptacle. I went to bed last night with a sense of accomplishment and hope that the new trash can would provide my children with a proper outlet for all of their broken junk and trash and make me victorious in my battle against looking like we own a dump instead of a backyard oasis. My hopes and dreams were completely dashed this morning when I walked outside, to once again admire our new can, and discovered wadded up paper towels all over the ground next to it. When I asked the children why they hadn't just put the paper towels in the trash can, the looked at me like I was stupid, and answered, "the lid was on it!" So apparently I'm going to have to spend my afternoon conducting a seminar on how to properly operate a trash can. I guess I'll squeeze it in after my seminar on things that can and cannot go in the toilet.

Thanks Amazon

Yesterday Colin got in the car and asked, "mom where do you buy a whip?". The first answer that popped into my mind was an adult novelty store. Colin is only 8, so I certainly didn't want to open that can of worms, so I said, "Amazon" because I'm pretty sure you can buy almost anything there. He didn't say anything else about it, and I didn't think anything about it until last night when he brought me a $10 bill and his iPod keyed up to amazon, and asked me to order his whip, which was nestled between a picture of a butt plug, a giant male organ, and a riding crop. Needless to say, Colin thinks I'm the meanest mother in the world because I said, "absolutely not!".

Office Politics

Told my bosses that since they wouldn't let me take a sick day, the least they could do was let me take a bath all by myself. The more senior bosses agreed, but the newest member of management insisted on joining me. During our bath, I was beaten with a rubber ducky, molested with inquisitive fingers (hey mommy what's that? Ahhh...we don't touch people there!), and assaulted with an ice cold wash cloth that I'm pretty sure spent some time in Antarctica. To top it all, 5 minutes into my night time "break" the oldest members of management proved that we haven't devoted enough company resources to team building exercises lately when they were unable to coexist in the same room without resorting to violence. All I have to say is when the head of HR gets home, he better take my complaints seriously and give me the night off and allow me to come in late tomorrow (his butt better be driving Colin to school). Otherwise I might have to put a temporary stop to this torrid office affair we've been having for the past ten years!

The Standoff

So Annabelle has been wearing the same Ariel nightgown for 3 days straight, and its getting a little ripe. I'd negotiated her out of it earlier today, but negotiations fell apart when I tried to put on her new dress for the day. Sam stepped in and assured me he'd take care of it. Negotiations lasted 15 minutes before they came to a screeching halt, and Annabelle emerged looking smug from her bedroom in the overly ripe nightgown once more. Her daddy just shrugged his shoulders and walked to the car.  Later I was giving Annabelle a bath, and I told her she had to pick out a new dress to sleep in. She looked me squarely in the eye, put her hands on her little hips and asked, "Where my daddy is? Daddy let me wear Rariel (Ariel) more!".

A Cautionary Tale

So I've made a monumental bonehead parenting move. The other day Annabelle was covered in breakfast syrup, so I let her take a shower with me. Now she thinks she needs to take a shower with me every morning. Yesterday I tried to sneak in without her, but she found me out and stood at the door and emotionally blackmailed me with sweet cries of, "but mommy I love you!" over and over until I caved. This morning she was dead asleep when I turned on the shower, and she sat straight up and yelled, "Mommy wait! Wait on the baby!" Whatever I waited. All was going well until I noticed a familiar terrible smell and looked down. Darn kid had pooped in the shower. Major eewwww!!! I got it all cleaned up, and we both got back in the shower because I still had shampoo in my hair and her butt needed to be cleaned up. I was washing the shampoo out of my hair with my eyes closed when I noticed something squishy between my toes and started to once again smell something awful. Rotten child pooped again, and I stepped in it!!!! I'm putting a lock on my shower tomorrow!

My Glamorous Life

So Annabelle just told me her butt was itchy and proceeded to drop her diaper and hike her booty in the air. I asked if this meant she wanted me to scratch it for her. She rolled her eyes, answered in the affirmative, reminded me that it was "itchy," and waited for me to assist her in her time of need. Glamorous. That is the only word to describe my life.

Things that go bump in the night

Colin thought he heard a noise outside, which totally freaked Tyler out since Sam isn't home to protect us. He refused to go back to bed until we went and checked the house. I'm not exactly sure what their plan was if we found something. I really don't think the sight of me in my jammies with Colin and Tyler bringing up my flank in nothing but their undies would've been enough to terrify a potential intruder into running for cover. I guess this is what happens when you are too little to have watched enough horror movies to know that the first idiot who goes looking for intruder is always the first person to die!