Today in the Mommyhood, Day 1025 (Posthumous)

(This happened last weekend, but when you’re only getting three hours of sleep at a time… delays happen.)

So, last Saturday in the ‘hood:

We’d driven two and a half hours to a birthday party, and because keeping Dane in bed at night requires wood slats nailed across his door frame a lot of effort, we were driving home at bedtime. We do this on longer drives: get in the car around bedtime, kids nod off after takeoff, ride home is peaceful and we toss the kids in bed when we get home. Except.

The husband was driving. And when the husband drives, he gets sleepy. And when he gets sleepy, he wants a milkshake. So thirty minutes into our drive, the kids and I are asleep (did you read the part where I only sleep three hours at a time? YES, I was asleep), and I wake to find us EXITING THE FREEWAY. That’s right. He was SLOWING THE VEHICLE DOWN WHILE CHILDREN WERE SLEEPING INSIDE.

For those of you with no children, this violates four fundamental tenets of parenting, two international treaties and at least one law of physics. I don’t care if your hair is on fire; if there are sleeping children in your car, you douse it with the three-day-old Diet Coke in your cupholder and KEEP. MOVING.

But, no.

To his credit, the husband was tired, and it was raining, and it was late, and I understand the undeniable urge for a milkshake at any time of the day. We even made it through the drive-through, and here I am thinking well, what do you know, karma must be looking the other way, when what happened? Want to guess? Go on, give it a try.

The car overheats.

That’s right. It’s an hour past bedtime, toddler and infant asleep in their car seats, in a driving rainstorm, in a K-Mart parking lot, two hours from home, and the STINKING. CAR. OVERHEATS.

German engineering, my ass.

As you might imagine, the children woke up and chaos ensued. We spent the rest of the drive rocking to a tuneless, goats-only rendition of Old MacDonald Had a Farm, punctuated by the cries of our unhappy seven-month old. Oh, and ten minutes before we got home? Of course. They fell asleep. Because, well, that happens.

Miss me much? 🙂

2013_08_26 Car Ride

Getting ready for the next round of “wit a AAAAHHHHAAAHH dere and a AAAHHHAAAHHHH dere.”

smooch -s

(Posthumous) Today in the Mommyhood, Day 507 (St. Patrick’s Day Edition)

Yesterday, a friend and I went downtown to run an 8k for St. Patrick’s Day. Never mind that I haven’t run anywhere but to the Whole Foods cookie bin in six months, because I’m pretty sure I’m invincible. Right?

So we get there and we get this magical end of the rainbow parking spot and we’ve been listening to Journey and Kansas and Britney and we’re all amped up and ready to go. And the square is full of festival tents and parade floats and beer drinkers and girls in green satin booty shorts and cowboy boots (like the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, only, well, not.). We head off to the bar sponsoring the run and on the way I’m noticing there aren’t really any, you know, runners there, and so we get inside and ask four different people about run registration and each person gives us an odd look until someone kindly points out that the run was, oh, March 3rd. Which I don’t know if you guys check your calendars much, but apparently WAS NOT YESTERDAY.

Our reactions, in order, were:

1. Incredulity followed by embarrassed laughter and mommy brain comments, and then…

2. Guilt and a brief discussion about going elsewhere to run, quickly cut short by the…

3. Dawning realization that not only were we husband- and child-free for TWO-PLUS HOURS, we were husband- and child-free for two-plus hours AT A FESTIVAL IN AN IRISH BAR ON ST. PATRICK’S DAY.

That right there, friends, is proof God loves us. Happy Sunday.

(The downside is we were at a festival in an Irish bar on St. Patrick’s day for two-plus hours and I hadn’t even washed my face, much less put on makeup, so no pictures. Instead, here’s one of my favorite places in Ireland…)

Glendalough. Yay, green.

 Smooch -s

Today in the Mommyhood, Day 508

Today in the mommyhood, I:

Took my shirt off, used it to wipe milk off the floor to keep Dane from crying, and then put it back on without a second thought…

Realized I’ve had two Starbucks beverages every day for over a week…

Heard myself say, “I’m not really grumpy; I’m just a bitch…”

And then realized, HELL, Y’ALL, that’s actually kind of true.

Fine, mommyhood. Today, you defeat me. But I’m keeping the prize anyway:


Smooch -s

Today in the Mommyhood, Day 488 (Part OMG Y’ALL WORM)

DUDE(S).

So today, Dane leans over and picks up what I think is a dead worm from the driveway. Because I’m, you know, supermommy and all, I go running over to take the carcass from him before it becomes (ugh, shiver) a snack, and as I’m trying to remove it from his sweet toddler hand, it… WIGGLES, Y’ALL. WITH IT’S CREEPY PLUMP WORM HEAD. AND THEN WIGGLES SOME MORE. AND I JUMP BACK AND SCREAM AND LEAVE MY POOR, DEFENSELESS TODDLER HOLDING A PLUMP, WIGGLING, NON-DEAD WORM AND OH MY GOD YALL DID I MENTION WORM.

So. Of course, Dane drops the worm and starts crying, and then my neighbors start laughing HYSTERICALLY (I live in the best neighborhood ON THE PLANET), and then (since my toddler is crying and also, you know, WORM FREE) I pick him up and on we go with our day.

EXCEPT FOR THE PART WHERE I SUCK AS A MOMMY.

Oh y’all. I am so screwed.

WHAT. NOW. MOMMY.

Smooch -s

Today in the Mommyhood, Day 297ish

Today in the mommyhood, I unraveled the mystery of what’s inside a diaper… by accidentally running it through my washing machine. Go, mommy.

Mommyhood 1 – Mommy Su-Su 0

On a related topic, Aunt Brookie tells me the same thing can be accomplished by letting your child sit in a baby pool in nothing but a diaper for an extended period of time. I feel better. Thanks, A.B.

*Jon mentioned to me last night that “what’s inside a diaper” might be a little, ahem, unclear. I do not mean the contents of a diaper provided by my little man. I mean diaper filling, the crystalline stuff that can’t possibly be safe for human consumption and will likely not biodegrade until the end of time. Which is okay, since my washer is also from the dawn of time… they’ll live together in peace and happiness for all eternity. Oh hell, what am I talking about, anyway? Somebody get me a margarita.

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