I know you all realize I have it all together, never get bent out of shape, and that the reason I blog is to encourage you all on how to do life "right".... and I've got some ocean front property for sale right here in North Dakota.
Hold on to your hats, folks, cause I'm about to take you for a wild ride recounting my day. And it's not even 1:00 as I'm starting this blog, so this is gonna be a good one.
Little Man has been switching it up lately with his eating routine, which is
draining us of all energy awesome for us. He was eating about 11:00, then sleeping for 4 1/2, sometimes even 5 hours, at which point Brent would wake up with him for feeding. Lately, he has reverted to every three hours, which means I feed him late at night, later at night, super early in the morning, and then pray he sleeps long enough to justify waking Brent up to feed him before he has to get ready for work. Last night was no exception. I have no idea what time I love-shoved Brent to alert him to the fact it was his turn. I knew I had fed Little Man from 2:30 to 3:15, and so it had to be an appropriate time to switch parents. When I know Brent is up and taking care of Little Man, I enter the sleep-of-all-sleeps where I am completely dead to the world. I hear nothing. I dream nothing. I don't move. I barely breathe. I am so far gone from consciousness, it's ridiculous. Such was my rest this morning. At some point after being fed by Daddy, Little Man decided he was too good for his bassinet and wanted to sleep while being held. I was the only one in the room at the time, so I awoke from my hibernation and obliged to his whim.
Usually at that point (and it happens that way just about every morning), I can sleep until Little Miss gets bored and comes in wishing to rouse me. This morning, however, I couldn't do that. I had to get up and get going because we had an appointment for Little Man at the early hour of 10:00 a.m. I'm not even being sarcastic there. With a preschooler and an infant, anything before 3:00 p.m. is way too early. I was up just after 8:00 - that would give me an hour and a half to get us all three ready, get Little Miss dropped off with a friend who lives just around the corner from the clinic, and get checked in for the appointment. Game on.
First thing's first: I had to pump. Pumping is supposed to be "Mommy's private time", but apparently in preschool-speak, that means nothing at all. I sometimes hang my head in realization I will never get private time ever again. Ever. Hanging my head causes me to need to see the chiropractor every other day, to adjust my neck. (I'll be calling soon, Dr. Mat...) Seventeen ounces
lighter later, and after repeated failed requests to let Mommy have her private time, I was asking Little Miss to get herself dressed in the clothes we had laid out for her the previous night. That only took three trips upstairs to her new room (we moved her and she is so excited), and 1,945,349,324,234 times for her to check herself in our full-length mirror.
I snuggled Little Man and took him to the changing table to get him in a fresh, dry diaper, and some adorable Little-Man-Newborn clothes appropriate for the summer weather we've been having. He was a total rockstar while I changed him, completely content and very alert, taking in his surroundings. His big sister gave him a butterfly sticker, strategically placed on his outfit to later fall off and affix itself to unknown areas of my personal wardrobe, for his good behavior. I got a sticker too, for being so good while changing him.
At some point I walked into the kitchen to get myself some breakfast. However, Little Man was beginning to act like he might be getting hungry (read: inconsolably screaming), so I left the kitchen to feed him, and never did get myself any breakfast. Score one for unhealthy living. By this time, if we were going to get Little Miss dropped off, and get to the appointment in time, I had about thirty minutes in which to shower and get myself put together. I called Little Miss in for backup to feed her brother. She loves to hold the bottle for him, so long as it doesn't take him more than five minutes to eat. I figured if I could just get five minutes, I could put on eyeliner and mascara, forego the shower, and pretend to be put together. She took over feeding duties, and I went to work applying makeup so it would look like I had showered - save for the baseball cap, "comfy pants", and t-shirt I was sporting. I threw on some deodorant, and began to brush my teeth while packing bottles, diapers, and any necessary items into the diaper bag.
Now it was the time at which I had told my friend I would be dropping Little Miss off at her house. We were going to cut it way closer than I wanted for checking in to the appointment. Times like this, my stress level starts to rise. If I'm not ten minutes (or more, if you ask my husband) early to something - anything - I consider myself late. I threw us all into overdrive to get out the door. Then I went to grab the keys.
The keys. Where are the keys? Where are the blankity-blank van keys?
We have two sets. Two. Neither of them were anywhere to be found. Nowhere. Not on the table, not on the counter, not in Brent's shorts pockets, not in my purse, not in the diaper bag, (I know, because I dumped everything out of both), not downstairs on the dryer, not upstairs on the dresser - nowhere. Neither set. Nothing. Nowhere to be found.
We all trekked out to the van. Brent had taken it to pick up our dinner last night, so maybe he did what he sometimes does, and the keys were still inside the van.
I texted my friend not to wait up for us. I called Brent's phone forty-five-bazillion times. I knew he was in training today, because he told me so, so naturally I would call his cell phone instead of his desk phone, because if he was in training he wouldn't be at his desk. No answer. I started leaving messages like, "We're stuck at home. WHERE ARE THE KEYS?" Nothing. No answer.
I went back inside, holding a crying baby whose meal had been cut short, still calling his phone repeatedly. I checked all of the same spots again and even some new ones, just in case I had overlooked them and they would be right there, and we could get going. No keys. No keys.
Back out to the van to unbuckle Little Miss who was SO PROUD of herself for buckling her own seat, and I had to undo it. She realized we weren't going anywhere, and she started to cry. I called the clinic and told them I had to reschedule "because I have no car keys, or any idea where they might be." As she stifled a giggle, she connected me with the person who could reschedule appointments. We got that done, then I started to cry.
We marched back in the house, all three of us crying. Apparently we didn't just lose the keys, but we lost our hopes and dreams for the entire remainder of time. As one last ditch effort, though it was a moot point now, I called Brent's desk phone. He answered on the first ring. He answered on the first. ring.
"Where have you been?! I've been calling your cell on repeat!"
He left his cell phone at home. "I emailed you..." Of course - because getting three of us ready for an appointment scheduled way too early in the day would give me ample time to check my email - while eating the breakfast I never got to have, and enjoying the cup of coffee I never got to brew.
"Where are the keys?! I had to cancel the appointment!"
He started naming off every single place I had already checked. He didn't know where they were. Either set. We have two sets of keys and we can't find even half of one. Through gritted teeth and trying not to let on we were all three in tears, I choked out, "Whelp it doesn't matter, we're stuck. See ya later." /phone call pleasantries.
I let Little Man have the rest of his meal, as I was texting my friend we wouldn't be there, or anywhere, because the keys were MIA. I decided it was early enough, we were all ready, and it was still below boiling outside, so we should take a walk to the gas station nearby and buy some
coping sugars cold drinks.
I strapped Little Man to my front in the Baby Bjorn and threw a light blanket over him to keep the sun rays at bay, sat Little Miss in the stroller, and we were off. It's probably five or six blocks to the gas station. When you have a baby strapped to you, covered with a blanket (no matter how light), you're pushing a stroller with one hand, and you're trying to recover from being sawed in half, and it's a gorgeous (intensely sunshiny, no shade) day, it may feel like twelve miles.
When we walked into the air-conditioned Kum & Go, I wanted to stay inside until Brent got off work and could come pick us up to take us home. Instead, I grabbed myself 52 ounces of ice and carbonation, grabbed Little Miss a tiny bottle of 100% apple juice (all about arsenic and faux-health here...), threw in a half-size container of Pringles, and plopped it all on the counter. The clerk said, "Boy do you have your hands full." I feigned a smile. I wanted to say, "Yes, but I still have room to hold some keys, if I had any!" and then laugh maniacally, because I felt like being completely loony. I stuck with a feigned smile. I paid for our items, backed out the door, and we were on our way back home.
Thankfully, there was a breeze, and it kept us cool enough for me to survive the six block walk back. It took forever - or felt like forever - because my abdomen was aching and I had somehow adopted an awkward gait of turning my hip out to the right as I went along. (Like I said, I'll be calling you soon, Dr. Mat...) Once we made it home, I parked the stroller, grabbed my camp chair that had sat out all night in the rain, and seated my duff squarely in it's inviting pink fabric. I took off the bjorn, removed Little Man from its confines, popped open the chips, and we had a little late-morning snack in the shade. Eventually I realized I needed to get Little Man inside so I could change him. He smelled. When I picked him up, however, I realized it was me. I smelled. Swoob, milk, and defeat had all mixed together for a most attractive aroma. I guess it's a good thing I skipped the shower earlier, so I can really enjoy it later.
When we all went inside to grab some lunch and regroup, I was down from my crazy-train mindset, and reveling in the fact that I took both kids on a walk, had us all dressed (if you count the fact that I changed into clean "comfy" clothes from my pajama comfy clothes), and enjoying a summer morning. Enjoying, after freaking out about not having any keys and having to reschedule an appointment.
I still haven't found Little Man's butterfly sticker he earned for good behavior, but if I had to guess, I'd say its sparkly silver self is affixed to my bottom or some other such location, acting as a safety reflector while we went on our neighborhood walk. Along one of the busiest roads in town.
I realized I had a blog published regarding marriage advice, so of course that means Brent and I would endure some intense fellowship. It happens every single time. I also remembered to check my email, where I saw Brent's note letting me know he has left his phone at home and asking me if I could drop it by on our way to or from the appointment. Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahahaha!
When it's all said and done, if you can't laugh (even maniacally), you can cry. And then you can laugh. And then later when your husband comes home from a long day at work, you can make him look for the keys while you cook him dinner and apologize for yelling at him. Then you can send him to the store to buy a decorative little hanger for the keys that will go right by the door so they have a place at all times and never have to be looked for again. Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahahahaha!