(I wrote this on Monday, but I am just getting it on the blog.)
Ever have one of those days? It’s 11:00am, Monday. Let me know if you can top this day so far.
Husband woke up late; told me he didn’t have time to make coffee. As a consolation suggested that I sleep in this morning. Great idea! My day should have started out well, right? So I slept in, forgetting that the kids were going to GJ’s today. Oops. What is worse? The way I woke up for a second time. Husband was standing over me telling me that he had dropped his motorcycle on the way to work and was a little banged up. In a sense it was probably better that he told me while I was half asleep. Otherwise, I would have freaked out.
So I get out of bed and realize my throat hurts. Not again. It feels like the beginning of another sinus infection (my fourth in about 6 months). I am looking around the room, getting my bearings as I hear through the monitor, “Mama, pants off.” Not good. Daughter is in a bed now because while she was in the crib, she kept taking her pajamas and diaper off. The theory was that if she were in a bed, she would wake up, get out of bed and start her day as opposed to being stuck in the crib and having nothing better to do than quietly wake up, take off her clothes and play around with her diaper and what ever she found in it.
You know the saying, “With great freedom comes great responsibility? Let me modify that, “When your kids get great freedom, your responsibility increases greatly.” So true when you let a 19 month old loose in her room with no supervision.
Still, so far, not too bad. Manageable. Husband showers so as to rid himself of the gravel embedded in his skin, Son wakes up smiling and happy (as usual) and Daughter is standing in her room, sans pants, her poopy diaper on the floor, adamantly announcing, “Poop goes in the pot!”
I move on. Clean up Daughter. Put on a cartoon. Fix an incredibly healthy breakfast: Poptarts, and keep going. I make coffee (it comes out horrible), lay out the kids clothes and gobble down a Poptart. I get dressed.
We pile into the car. I am taking Husband to work because last night, we took his truck to my parents house to work on and it is now in pieces in their garage. Off we go to GJ’s. All is well there. Drop off the kids, head over to my parents to pick up Husband’s backpack that he left there last night. Try to sneak in so as not to wake up Pops. Apparently, woke up Pops because I see him peak out of his window as we are driving off. Great, add “give Pops a heart attack” to my list of accomplishments this morning.
Head to CVS and hope that my day will get better. We all know how I feel about CVS. It should be able to turn my day around. Not the case. I spend my ECB’s on stuff for Husband’s injuries and don’t get any ECB’s back. That’s right, I just spent them. It was tough to take. I bandage up Husband and drop him off at work. Head to HR at the old job to sign paperwork that they lost the first time we signed. Terrific.
I look at the clock. Most of my Mommy Morning Out is gone. I try to salvage it. Head to Barnes and Noble. Order a Chai. Realize I left my wallet in the car. In a moment of panic, tell the cashier that I left my wallet at home (even stupider than leaving it in the car. Walk out. Embarrassing!
Go right across the mall parking lot to the Starbucks. I walk in, wallet in hand and stand behind a family ordering. The problem? No one in the family speaks English. I know people who speak fluent English who struggle to order at Starbucks. You can just imaging how it works for people who don’t. It takes forever. The keep going over to the shelf and buying one more mug or one more bag of coffee as if they are on their last day at some type of tourist attraction and they just need one more souvenir. 40 dollars later, they are done. I step up to the counter; ready to give my super easy order when their first sets of drinks come out and they are incorrect. (Poor, poor barista!) After several minutes of discussion, she starts over.
Cashier apologizes. No big deal and I smile as I order. He asks for my name. I tell him. He writes “Angie” on the cup. For those of you who haven’t heard the speech: “I am Angela, AJ, Ang, hey you, kiddo, lady, whatever! JUST NOT ANGIE!” Angie is a hooker name. (No offense to all the Angie’s out there. I was in the seventh grade when I came to this conclusion. I am not even sure that I knew what a hooker was, and yet, the thought has stuck with me and I just can’t seem to get rid of it. So there it is in permanent marker on my cup – the one that I take home and reuse over and over again- “ANGIE.”
Can it get worse? Sure, you can try to put the straw in your drink and bust the lid and nearly spill Chai tea all over yourself. And so, here I am, writing this with a pen and a piece of paper because I left my laptop at home. One of the pens I was writing with ran out of ink and I had to dig through my purse to keep going.
On the bright side, I have not given up hope that this day will get better. In fact, when I get home, I will start by taking permanent marker and scratching out the name, “Angie” from my cup. Then, all will be well.