Yesterday was one of those days where everything that could go wrong did. It was the 100th day of kindergarten at my oldest son’s school. I woke up really late, proceeded to run around like a mad woman tossing clothes at people as I tried to get myself dressed, and finally got my son to wake up and start getting dressed himself. And as we were coloring on his fake mustache, I remembered that the glasses he was so excited about had been broken by his younger brother and we’d have to stop and get him another pair or else I’d be the worst mom ever.
So I managed to get us both out of the door, stopping at least twice because he apparently doesn’t like the socks he was wearing so he kept taking off his shoes to fix them and then I’d have to put them back on because he doesn’t know how untie and tie shoes yet. We finally get to the store and he’s OF COURSE taken off his shoe again so I scramble to put it back on, vowing to throw these socks out the second he gets home. We make our way to the reading glasses and I can get one pair for $9.99 or three for $15.99. Of course I grab the three pack because I’m sure we will need these again some day (although I’ll probably lose them before that time comes) and we grab some Nutrigrain bars at his request and go check out.
Back in the car, I toss him a Nutrigrain bar as he gets buckled back in to his seat and of course now he doesn’t want it. So I give him a juice and hope he doesn’t starve before his ridiculously early lunch and then open up the glasses. The glasses that cost way more than the pair I’d gotten him days earlier at Dollar General. I start trying to pop out the lenses but apparently $5 reading glasses don’t come apart as easily as $1 glasses. I sit there for five minutes trying to get these damn lenses out, look at the clock, and we are officially late to school. So I curse and back out and drive the couple of blocks to school where the parking lot is now barren because we are now ten minutes past the bell. Pull up to the curb, have him put on his glasses for a picture while making him promise to take them off during school because I’m worried I’m going to destroy his eyesight for good if he tries to actually do anything with these on, and then we stand there in the cold to get a photo. Some lady who I can only hope had just dropped off her own kid embarrassingly late so mine wouldn’t be the only one walked by, exclaiming how cute he was, and I smiled and snapped my pictures, feeling a little less frazzled because at least I hadn’t failed at turning him in to a 100 year old man for his 100th day of school.
I get back home and for a little while it feels like this might be a relatively calm day after all. Kid number one is at school, kid number two is quietly playing a video game while I get some stuff done, and kid number three is playing in his jumper, laughing and being cute. Then suddenly, kid number two comes downstairs. Covered in blue stuff.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s makeup, mommy,” he replies, proudly. But I don’t own any blue makeup. Do I? So I go upstairs to see what I’m dealing with. And that’s when I see it. The blue and yellow squiggles all over the wall and the TV stand. I had left the Halloween makeup I used to draw a fake ‘stache on my oldest just sitting there. Right there for the toddler to play with. I laugh it off because it’s my own fault and tell him next time he wants to color to come talk to me first and then I go try to get some work done while he plays with something else. It’s calm again and I get quite a bit done, stopping occasionally to play with the kids or give the baby a bottle and then around 1:00 I stop to make lunch before we have to go pick up kid number one from school. Preheating the oven so I can make the pizza I bought the day before, I go back upstairs to feed the baby a bottle and put him down for a nap and I come downstairs to smoke.
“What the f***?!” I run in to the kitchen and open the windows and back door before opening the oven and getting enveloped in smoke and after coughing and fanning the smoke away while pushing the vent button on the microwave, I look and see one of my glass baking dishes filled with what smells like my scented oils and what looks like sugar mixed in.
“Mommy, there fire?”
“No Oliver, there’s no fire. But what’s this?”
“I baking, mommy.” I grabbed an oven mitt and carefully extracted whatever disgusting concoction he had made and set it outside the back door and put the pizza back in the fridge because obviously that wasn’t happening now. We had a serious, yet brief, conversation about how he’s not supposed to put things in the oven without me (which I would love to say this was a first, but unfortunately it was not) and then I got him and the baby dressed and in their carseats because I needed sustenance and to get away from the stench in my house. So we left the house to air out and I went and treated myself with Starbucks since I had money on my gold card. The toddler passed out, apparently exhausted from the mischief he’d gotten into, and the baby fell asleep soon after so I went and parked in front of the school and waited for my son in blissful silence.
The bell rang and I sat up and put up my sign and out comes my five year old with his teacher. Carrying a bag of snack mix. That I was supposed to send Cheerios for. And completely forgot about because we woke up late for school. He climbed in the car and buckled himself in, and we went home to my still smelly house. The rest of the day was uneventful (mostly due to the toddler catching up on sleep since he stayed up late on Superbowl Sunday). We went and ate dinner with my parents which was nice because who doesn’t like eating dinner that you don’t have to cook. We left, the kids were all sleepy, I needed gas, so we went to the gas station before going home so I could drive in circles and hopefully knock them out for the night. Get to the gas station and start pumping gas but the freaking gas pump won’t stay on. For some reason it keeps clicking off after a couple seconds. It did this about a week ago too but I figured it was just an issue with the pump. Try to pump gas again and again and it keeps doing it so finally I angrily close my gas cover and head to a different gas station. Try to pump gas there and it does the same. Damn. Thing.
At this point I’m tired and beyond frustrated. So I did what anyone would do. I embarrassed myself in the middle of the Seven Eleven parking lot by yelling at an inanimate object asking it why it wouldn’t work. And then I kicked my tire and climbed back in and drove home, realizing everyone at Seven Eleven now thinks I’m a raging lunatic and I’ll never be able to quench my slurpee pregnancy craving at that location ever again.
So there’s my day. The moral of this story is always remember to put up your Halloween makeup, check the oven before you turn it on, put a reminded to bring school stuff in your phone, and don’t yell at gas pumps and your car at your local gas station. And remember that you aren’t alone when you have days that make you want to bang your head into the wall.