It started innocently enough on Friday morning, when I was able to take a 7 minute shower in complete and utter silence. This never happens. On average, I'm interrupted, i don't know, about 20 times in the span of a 7 minute shower for such crises as missing oreos, broken crayons, noodles on the ceiling, missing pieces of cereal sculptures, missing Barbie shoes, the unspeakable crime of not having more Doritos in the house.
Don't even get me started on the last time I peed in peace. I think it might have been in 2008. I once said that I went back to work after Little M was born for the opportunity to eat and pee in peace. That's an untrue statement. Now, people talk to me over the walls in the ladies room. Joy. Don't people know that I come to work in the hopes that I just might seize that elusive 2 minutes of peace? It's gotten to the point that I've found a "secret" ladies room (and I will NEVEREVEREVEREVER tell where it is), and if someone happens to be in there at the same time as me, I am not nice. Like, as in, eye-dagger flashing, if-looks-could-kill-you'd-be-six-feet-under, not-at-all-nice. For crying out loud- All.I.Want.To.Do.Is.Pee.In. Silence.At.Least.Once.A.Calendar.Year. Is that too much to ask?
If there is any upshot to this insanity, it's that I get to feel needed and I get to feel popular. I'm practically Jennifer Aniston the second I even glance at a bathroom or contemplate eating. So, at least there's that.
Woo hoo. I'm so excited about that, I could just pee. Oh, right........right. Therein lies the freaking problem.
Back to Friday morning and the freakish incident of the uninterrupted shower. I exited the shower with (a) no shampoo still in my hair, (b) no conditioner still in my hair and (c) will all traces of soap and shaving cream washed away from my body. Weird. I marveled in this wonderous event for all of thirty seconds before I glanced downstairs.
I think that if my family room were actually firebombed, it might have caused less damage. In the span of 7 minutes, the young lass managed to accomplish the following:
1. Moved a kitchen chair to the counter to retrieve 4 Crumbs cupcakes, and return chair to original location.
2. Ate the icing off of all 4 Crumbs cupcakes, and removing the icing residue from the cupcakes by sliding her hands across the coffee table and the walls.
3. Located 250 envelopes from the hall closet and distributed those envelopes evenly across the family room.
4. Retrieved all of her underpants and socks from her dresser and scattered them in various locations in the family room.
5. Glitter glue. All I have to say. Glitter glue.
6. Crumbled portions of cupcake carcasses and ground cupcake dust into the carpet.
7. Lemonade. Everywhere.
7 minutes of showering. 2 hours of cleanup. Might have been a decent trade.
As a follow-up to the extensive clean-up process, I decided to play "real mommy" and spend time with a complete stranger whose offspring happened to be the same age as mine.
In the future, please remind me that this story never ends well.
Key takeaways from this adventure are:
1. I am to be pitied because I have a job outside the home. (GRRRRRR. Just GRRRRRR. Aside from the off-chance that I can pee in peace, I also go to work because I am actually decent at it. Go figure. I can solve work problems. I can't always solve the problem of a child that prefers to wear 3 pairs of underpants on her head and none on her bottom).
2. I am not only incompetent, I am also a liar, and not only am I a liar, I am a liar that makes her child an accomplice.
Here's the shakedown, the breakdown.
Was talking to this complete stranger, and the topic of feeding the offspring came up. Feeding the offspring. I'm a fan. I try to do it daily, as a general rule.
The topic turned to organic foods and the importance of knowing the origin of food- both important topics. And then....then I heard this.
I just think that feeding kids any non-organic food is child abuse. Don't you agree?
Ummmm. Ummmmm. Ummmmmm.
What I was thinking: I once fed my kid organic Oreos. That, my friend, is abuse. Those things really hurt when they're flung at your eye sockets by the people who live in your house.
What I actually said: (sheepish gulp): Absolutely.
Then, the follow-up comment.
"It's just so important to know where everything that you eat comes from."
What I was thinking: I totally agree. I can almost always tell you what box my kid ate from. And those munchkins came from the floor of the Kennett Dunkin Donuts- which is the clean Dunkin Donuts. I would never let her eat from the floor at the Dunkin Donuts on Market Street.
What I actually said: I couldn't agree more.
What I actually did: The second the stranger turned her back, I ran to Little M and made a deal with her. The deal went something like this:
If you say agree with everything I say in the next half hour, and say nothing about the Doritos that I saw you lick the cheese and seasoning from and then put the actual chips back in the bag, I will buy you a Shamrock Shake.
Easiest deal I ever made. My girl is an outstanding actress. The girl also loves playing a role in a pre-school conspiracy.
I don't mean to sound completely flip about feeding Little M properly. The girl eats her fair share of organic foods. The girl eats her vegetables. The girl's spent plenty of time in Whole Foods. I do my best to be responsible. I just don't take the whole thing too seriously. She has my genes- she's going to be more serious than she needs to be whether she wants to or not. She can temper this seriousness with real Oreos and ice-cream for breakfast and the occasional enactment of the 5 second rule.
The Shamrock Shakes were delicious. We had them after our trip to Whole Foods.
No comments:
Post a Comment