Bad things I've done lately:
- I've gone through a lot of amber-nearly-red lights when I could have stopped
- I haven't called people back when I've had time because there was an interesting topic on Oprah
- I wasted gas and helped ruin the environment to get the good cookies across the bridge instead of the lousy cookies at our local Tim Hortons
- I didn't share the cookies with my kids because I wanted to eat them all
... Oh, hi there. Sorry about that. I'm just making a list of all my recent misdeeds so that I can somehow figure out how I earned enough bad karma to justify today's hell on earth.
I'm usually the last person to say that her day sucked. In fact, I'm that cheery person who tries to tell you why your day didn't suck, either. I'm the one you want to punch in the face. The Ned Flanders in your life. Look on the bright side, person that I know. You could be a starving mother in Africa trying to feed your kids, person that I know. A lot of people have it worse than you, person that I know.
But there was no one around to tell me those things today. I had to tell them to myself while I ran through every negative emotion in the Postpartum Hormonal Rut Handbook (The Maven Publishing House, $14.00CDN).
My morning looked like this:
So, between the time we started getting our outerwear on and the time the van backed out of the driveway, it took fourty minutes. I think the event also took five years off my life.
The afternoon was fairly relaxed, which allowed me just enough time to rest up for the next leg of the race. Intrepid came home on the bus and I asked him to check the mail. We're not gifted with old fashioned, at-your-door service. We have to use one of those boxes on the corner like the rest of the unfortunates. He agreed and wanted to go to Tim Hortons afterwards to get a donut. I had no objections ('Nothing for me, honey, because their cookies are terrible'), so I sent him off.
He took a long time to come back. A very long time. I was starting to get that mommy panicky feeling. I kept thinking of search parties and posters and such. Just as I was about to take the younger, sickly duo out the door to look for him, he came home in tears.
'Bad news. mom. I lost your keys.'
Ok. Ten-year-old boy child has not been abducted or hit by a jonesing caffeine junkie. Good, good. Temporary relief.
Keys are missing. Bad, bad. House key, mailbox key and van key complete with fob (that thing on the keychain that unlocks the car and, in this case, has an remote car starter button) that will easily identify and make accessible the now $30,000 sitting duck and its contents, along with the home attached to it with all its contents. And it's Christmas, which usually means said home has extra contents and people who find keys on the side of the road may be more likely to want said contents for extra holiday cheer.
(Think 1 and 2. I'm 30 and thus far too old to misuse the words 'panic', 'ill' or 'sick'.)
My rush was not to sell property, but to find the missing keys. I bundled up the asthmatic, both ill and ill-behaved (see? I used it properly) preschooler and his equally ill infant sibling and ushered everyone out the door to keep looking, but not before putting in a frantic call to my husband. I just wanted to give him something to think about other than the traffic on his lengthly commute home.
Two trips to Tim Hortons and several walks up and down the road between it, the home and the communal mailbox later, I was at a loss. No keys. Meanwhile, Intrepid is crying hard and telling me how sorry he is. I lectured him on taking responsibility for things and explained that this could wind up costing his dad and I a small fortune. And I didn't just say it nicely like they do on tv. No. I said it in a very worried, upset way that made him feel even worse. Way to go, me. Because him feeling worse is going to help us find the keys, obviously.
I called the police station. No one turned in keys. I called again later. Still no keys, but here's our lost & found number, hinthint nudgenudge takethefreakinghintalready.
Geekster came home and went out not once, but twice with a flashlight. He went back to the Tim Hortons - I'm now convinced they're going to start spitting in my decaf - and still no keys.
I called the dealership, who gave me the grand total to replace the locks, reprogram the fob and replace the lost one: $350 + tax. Intrepid wins the family prize for most expensive trip to the donut store. I start to cry. I try not to do it in front of the kids, but they find me like little magnets Gutsy hugs me. Intrepid hugs me.
I spend a good while with Intrepid, apologizing for my psychotic behaviour earlier. I tell him that I was very worried and scared, but that it was no reason to snap at him and lecture him like I did. And I still love him and I still trust him and that I appreciate how hard he looked for the keys.
'It's ok, mom. I understand' and he gives me a big hug. I have the very best children in the world, even though they sometimes make Disney World seem quiet.
Geekster takes the van in around 8pm and gets the existing fob reprogrammed. The locks won't come in until Thursday. That's ok, because trying to get into the van without the fob will set off the alarm. Besides which, you can only enter through the driver's side, and the man made sure to park his car right up against that side. No way to get in now.
We still have to worry about the front door, but not quite as much. ADT has us covered. Plus, we have 10 pounds of vicious guard dog at our service. She can bite a big toe like I've never seen. She yips really loudly, too. It would scare off any malicious Girl Guide.
(1 and 2 describe my day with Gutsy. 3 is how I'm starting to feel now after watching an excellent House episode and having baby cuddle time. 4 is what I might do if I completely lose my marbles. Australia sounds good right now despite the poisonous everythings they have)
Karma: 1.
The Maven: 0.
Geekster: Tired, but watching Scrubs right now.
Intrepid: Awesome.
Gutsy: Not disobeying because he's now asleep.
Spawnling: Slept through most of it.
I'm an iddly-biddly jealous of the wee one, neighboureeno.
Things will be better tomorrow, right? And if not, you're going to bring me a coffee and a hug, I'm sure. Because it's Christmas and even people who don't share cookies deserve coffee. It's in the rule book. Trust me.
- I've gone through a lot of amber-nearly-red lights when I could have stopped
- I haven't called people back when I've had time because there was an interesting topic on Oprah
- I wasted gas and helped ruin the environment to get the good cookies across the bridge instead of the lousy cookies at our local Tim Hortons
- I didn't share the cookies with my kids because I wanted to eat them all
... Oh, hi there. Sorry about that. I'm just making a list of all my recent misdeeds so that I can somehow figure out how I earned enough bad karma to justify today's hell on earth.
I'm usually the last person to say that her day sucked. In fact, I'm that cheery person who tries to tell you why your day didn't suck, either. I'm the one you want to punch in the face. The Ned Flanders in your life. Look on the bright side, person that I know. You could be a starving mother in Africa trying to feed your kids, person that I know. A lot of people have it worse than you, person that I know.
But there was no one around to tell me those things today. I had to tell them to myself while I ran through every negative emotion in the Postpartum Hormonal Rut Handbook (The Maven Publishing House, $14.00CDN).
My morning looked like this:
frus·tra·tionA good example of frustration would be, say, it taking nearly fourty minutes to leave the house to get to an appointment because one of your children is an infant and thus can do nothing without your help, one is a ten-year-old who does nearly everything by himself but likes to boss around the four-year-old who can do most things for himself but chooses not to because he likes to piss you off. Said four-year-old also decides to throw several tantrums in for good measure both because he's upset that his brother is bossing him around and also because, well, he likes to piss you off.(fr
-str
sh
n)
n.1.a. The act of frustrating or an instance of being frustrated.b. The state of being frustrated.
2. Something that serves to frustrate.
So, between the time we started getting our outerwear on and the time the van backed out of the driveway, it took fourty minutes. I think the event also took five years off my life.
The afternoon was fairly relaxed, which allowed me just enough time to rest up for the next leg of the race. Intrepid came home on the bus and I asked him to check the mail. We're not gifted with old fashioned, at-your-door service. We have to use one of those boxes on the corner like the rest of the unfortunates. He agreed and wanted to go to Tim Hortons afterwards to get a donut. I had no objections ('Nothing for me, honey, because their cookies are terrible'), so I sent him off.
He took a long time to come back. A very long time. I was starting to get that mommy panicky feeling. I kept thinking of search parties and posters and such. Just as I was about to take the younger, sickly duo out the door to look for him, he came home in tears.
'Bad news. mom. I lost your keys.'
shock 1k)n.
1.a. A violent collision or impact; a heavy blow.b. The effect of such a collision or blow.2.a. Something that jars the mind or emotions as if with a violent unexpected blow.b. The disturbance of function, equilibrium, or mental faculties caused by such a blow; violent agitation.
Ok. Ten-year-old boy child has not been abducted or hit by a jonesing caffeine junkie. Good, good. Temporary relief.
Keys are missing. Bad, bad. House key, mailbox key and van key complete with fob (that thing on the keychain that unlocks the car and, in this case, has an remote car starter button) that will easily identify and make accessible the now $30,000 sitting duck and its contents, along with the home attached to it with all its contents. And it's Christmas, which usually means said home has extra contents and people who find keys on the side of the road may be more likely to want said contents for extra holiday cheer.
pan·icn
k)
n.1. A sudden, overpowering terror, often affecting many people at once. See Synonyms at fear.2. A sudden widespread alarm concerning finances, often resulting in a rush to sell property: a stock-market panic.3. Slang One that is uproariously funny.
(Think 1 and 2. I'm 30 and thus far too old to misuse the words 'panic', 'ill' or 'sick'.)
My rush was not to sell property, but to find the missing keys. I bundled up the asthmatic, both ill and ill-behaved (see? I used it properly) preschooler and his equally ill infant sibling and ushered everyone out the door to keep looking, but not before putting in a frantic call to my husband. I just wanted to give him something to think about other than the traffic on his lengthly commute home.
Two trips to Tim Hortons and several walks up and down the road between it, the home and the communal mailbox later, I was at a loss. No keys. Meanwhile, Intrepid is crying hard and telling me how sorry he is. I lectured him on taking responsibility for things and explained that this could wind up costing his dad and I a small fortune. And I didn't just say it nicely like they do on tv. No. I said it in a very worried, upset way that made him feel even worse. Way to go, me. Because him feeling worse is going to help us find the keys, obviously.
I called the police station. No one turned in keys. I called again later. Still no keys, but here's our lost & found number, hinthint nudgenudge takethefreakinghintalready.
Geekster came home and went out not once, but twice with a flashlight. He went back to the Tim Hortons - I'm now convinced they're going to start spitting in my decaf - and still no keys.
I called the dealership, who gave me the grand total to replace the locks, reprogram the fob and replace the lost one: $350 + tax. Intrepid wins the family prize for most expensive trip to the donut store. I start to cry. I try not to do it in front of the kids, but they find me like little magnets Gutsy hugs me. Intrepid hugs me.
I spend a good while with Intrepid, apologizing for my psychotic behaviour earlier. I tell him that I was very worried and scared, but that it was no reason to snap at him and lecture him like I did. And I still love him and I still trust him and that I appreciate how hard he looked for the keys.
'It's ok, mom. I understand' and he gives me a big hug. I have the very best children in the world, even though they sometimes make Disney World seem quiet.
Geekster takes the van in around 8pm and gets the existing fob reprogrammed. The locks won't come in until Thursday. That's ok, because trying to get into the van without the fob will set off the alarm. Besides which, you can only enter through the driver's side, and the man made sure to park his car right up against that side. No way to get in now.
We still have to worry about the front door, but not quite as much. ADT has us covered. Plus, we have 10 pounds of vicious guard dog at our service. She can bite a big toe like I've never seen. She yips really loudly, too. It would scare off any malicious Girl Guide.
sub·duetr.v. sub·dued, sub·du·ing, sub·dues1. To conquer and subjugate; vanquish. See Synonyms at defeat.2.To quiet or bring under control by physical force or persuasion; make tractable.
3. To make less intense or prominent; tone down: subdued my excitement about the upcoming holiday.4. To bring (land) under cultivation: Farmers subdued the arid lands of Australia.
(1 and 2 describe my day with Gutsy. 3 is how I'm starting to feel now after watching an excellent House episode and having baby cuddle time. 4 is what I might do if I completely lose my marbles. Australia sounds good right now despite the poisonous everythings they have)
Karma: 1.
The Maven: 0.
Geekster: Tired, but watching Scrubs right now.
Intrepid: Awesome.
Gutsy: Not disobeying because he's now asleep.
Spawnling: Slept through most of it.
I'm an iddly-biddly jealous of the wee one, neighboureeno.
Things will be better tomorrow, right? And if not, you're going to bring me a coffee and a hug, I'm sure. Because it's Christmas and even people who don't share cookies deserve coffee. It's in the rule book. Trust me.