Skip to content

Naked and Screaming for Chocolate

March 6, 2010

(I wrote this last night about my hella day, yesterday, Friday. Was it the 13th or something?…)
Today seemed to go pretty well–initially. Got the kids off to school with a minimum of clothing-related freaking out from my daughter or tantrums from my son. Did a little laundry, took a shower, actually got to apply my makeup in peace (have you read my last post “Adventures in Eyelashes” yet? If not, you should), and off I went to Starby’s for my usual black iced tea (I had already had my morning coffee, just in case you were wondering) and they have this new spicy chicken melt–quite yummy & fairly low in fat. Got a little writing done. S’good.
And then…if you recall from last week, I happened to, ahem, sleep through pickup–though in my defense I had gotten a shot from my physician for some neck and shoulder pain and…oh, who the fuck cares? I was late, okay? Like, by an hour… and guess what? My children LIVED THROUGH IT. Though they have been horribly scarred emotionally and tell me at regular intervals that they are not likely to recover any time soon–no drama in my house–I figured that I would still have a window of a few minutes given traffic and parking issues for any future pickups. Yea, right. Turns out I could not have been more wrong.
So, back to today. Try to keep up. About ten minutes prior to pickup time, when I am ON MY WAY to get the kids, my daughter calls me from her handy cell phone (she’s ten years old–not my idea) to “just check and make sure” that I would be there. Swallowing my normal smart-ass reply, I told her simply yes, honey, I was on my way. Great, moving on. Hit construction. Fuck. Turn right, which I do not want to do because now I am going to hit all of the high school traffic, but since I clearly have no choice, off I go, into the land of teenagers hopped up on the freedom of after school possibilities.
I decide at that point to call the preschool and let them know I might be a few minutes late so my little guy (age four) won’t be scared–he doesn‘t really have a concept of me being late per se–he just knows every other kid‘s mom has come and gone and he‘s still sitting there with his little worn but much loved stuffed penguin Weezie all by himself and no mama. As I am finishing up this call, I get another call from my daughter. Mind you, only about five minutes have passed since her first call, and I‘m still not late. “Where are you?!” she asks in that pissy, demanding voice that only hormonally-charged tweens have that hits you right in that part of your brain where you have this switch that you didn’t even know you had until you have a tween that goes from “just a little stressed” to “outright pissed off.” Just wait. There’s just sooo much more.
I, of course, hit every red light but I got there, finally, to find the parking lot full. Of course it is. It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? By this time, my daughter had alerted her teacher and my husband (on business in L.A.) that I wasn’t there yet and she and her brother would need to go into daycare. Even though she had just spoken to me and knew I was mere minutes away; so apparently telling her that I’m “around the corner” and that I’ll be there in “just a few minutes” meant to her something like “I’m having tea with Jack and Rose on the Titanic” and she therefore went into panic mode.
So husband calls me–as I am walking up to my daughter and her teacher in the carpool area–all upset that, once again, I have “forgotten” the kids. What. The. Fuck. (For the record, I didn’t “forget” my children last time. I simply slept through pickup time. Totally different. Kind of like Ross and Rachel being “on a break,” right?) Needless to say, I was not happy with my little girl. (I understand her concerns but she KNEW I was almost there. Girlfriend. Baby. Relax. I am here for you–and if you ever pull this shit again I will kill you. Mommy loves you. Mwah.) All is fine now.
I will skip ahead to the end of this afternoon by telling you the kids bickered like crazy coming in the door and dammit-to-hell-shit-piss I dropped my Chanel prescription sunglasses and one of the lenses popped out. Perfect. Fuck is the word of the day for good reason. At that point, I tuned out my children completely and went for the Belvedere and ice which was really the only logical conclusion to this pathetic day. Oh, except that then I called in Thai food for dinner & realized AFTER that I could not go pick it up because I forgot that I had been drinking and couldn‘t drive. That was definitely a major oops.
On the plus side, my makeup and hair looked really nice today.
*Epilogue: there are two more additions to this day from hell if you’d care to venture slightly further down my warped path. The little guy missed a step on one of the barstools and literally went flying through the air and landed with a scary, audible thud on the hardwood floor of the kitchen. Thank goodness his landing was broken by his well-padded little tush. That was a nail-biting enough moment that got even my daughter to be nice to him for at least a few minutes. (He’s fine.)
And both kids ended up staying up til, oh, about 2 a.m. Yea, wish I was kidding. I am exhausted, shaky, and on the verge of a migraine. I think if yesterday were to happen today, I would be one of those moms you see running down the street naked, screaming for chocolate.
Oh wait, maybe I did do that and I am so tired I have already forgotten.
Huh.
3 Comments
  1. Whew! I think I got a little stressed just reading that. But I was sooo happy to see that you realized that driving to get dinner after drinking was not good.

  2. What mom can't relate to this?! You had me laughing out loud. I hope your next day was better.
    🙂

  3. If only I could believe that some of that was made up. Although I'm pretty sure that the fact that it's all true is what makes it even funnier.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: