Some Mondays are Bad...
...and others are simply Wretched.
Today was one such Monday.
It started relatively well. The Moosebaby woke up for his morning bottle around 5:30, ate, and went back to sleep snuggled up next to me in my bed. I guess we looked so peaceful that Ben decided to leave us be and asked if I wanted to take him to Baby School, to which I replied with as vigorous a head nod as I can manage at 6:15 am.
All was going well (I knew what I was wearing and it was clean and ironed, my new haircut is incredibly easy to style, and Moosebaby was happy and mellow as always) until Bob started that damned can't-be-out-of-my-field-of-vision shit. Ugh. I don't know if it's his anxiety or a phase or what, but it's fucking annoying as all get out, and makes it very difficult to get the three of us (or the two of us for that matter, when it's just he and I) out the door in time. I noticed the hands on the clock moving faster than I could get him to move, and the mood of the morning began to turn.
It turned even worse when I went down to the basement to get Bob a coat. The weather has only recently turned cold, and the jacket he wore home from db's yesterday smelled like smoke, so I decided to pull out the BRAND NEW coat I bought him last spring when they were all on clearance--the coat that's been wrapped in two Target bags and hanging from a pipe in the basement ceiling. I got the hanger down, pulled off the two layers of Target bags, and discovered the hood was Full. Of. Dog. Food.
You're probably scratching your head right now and wondering if either you read that wrong or I'm high on crack cocaine. Neither. See, we have at some point either harbored or are harboring a rodent. Said rodent was stealing dog food from the OPEN bag my darling husband was keeping in the lower level closet, and socking said stolen dog food away in various and sundry rodent-friendly storage units. A couple of months ago, I pulled a pair of rubber rain boots of Bob's out of a storage bin in the basement and found one of them full of dog food--highly troublesome, since at that time I had no idea how that happened and could not figure it out for the life of me. Not long after that, I found one of our Halloween decorations full of dog food, and again, I was stumped. Some time after that, I figured out we had an unwelcome squatter and found an old diaper bag full of dog food. Now that I knew what was up, I told my husband in no uncertain terms that the dog food needed to be removed from our living quarters or else the dog would be. And I thought the problem was solved.
Well, I apparently had not yet discovered all the fucking rodent's hiding places. Now, staring at the hood of my kid's BRAND NEW coat full of kibble, I could see that nasty thing stealing dog food from the closet...running up into the ceiling tiles...scampering through the basement along that pipe...and wiggling its way into the plastic bags to deposit its booty in the hood. And I was as pissed off as I was grossed out.
But as I said, we were running late, it was cold, and my options were few. Ashtray-smelling not-warm-enough jacket, or rat-sullied coat?
I went with the rat-sullied coat. And told Bob "don't wear the hood. I'll wash it tonight."
Then there was the matter of the car seat. Ben is still using the infant carrier seat, which snaps into a base, which stays in Ben's car. I have a regular infant-to-toddler car seat that does not have a base but takes up damn near half my back seat. When I take Moosebaby to Baby School, Ben takes his car seat with him so he has it when he picks the baby up at the end of the day. Today, he forgot to take it with him. And I, not thinking, strapped the baby into it and then realized I had nowhere to put it.
And this is the part where I look like Britney Spears and invite all sorts of comments about what a horrible parent I am and calls from Children's Services.
Bob School and Baby School are both within walking distance of our house. So against my better judgment, I jury-rigged the infant carrier car seat in between Bob and my car seat. And we made it to Bob school and all was well.
Until I headed down a hill right in front of Baby School and felt the infant carrier slide down off my back seat. I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw poor Moosebaby's feet up in the air. And he hadn't made a peep.
Oh shit oh Jesus his head must be wedged under my seat oh Jesus oh fuck what am I going to do oh God I've killed the baby.
I threw the car in park, yanked up the emergency brake, jumped out and opened the back door--and there was Moosebaby, tipped upside down with his car seat, just smiling at me like "hi, Mom, what the fuck?"
So I got him out of the car, took him inside, got him out of the seat, and hugged him so hard I probably cracked a few of his tiny little ribs. He didn't seem too phased by any of it, and took his place on the floor to stare at one of the other babies. Bye, Mom, try not to cause any other children bodily harm on your way to work!
And OF COURSE Bob had to tell his teacher that his hood had been full of dog food and stunk, and "she sprayed it with some stuff." Lovely. Truly lovely.
But the day is over, the coat is washed, the rodent is on my shit list, I've learned a valuable lesson about traveling with babies and the Moosebaby and I have made a deal (he never mentions this incident to his father, and I'll buy him a very nice car for his 16th birthday).
I really wish I hadn't given up smoking.
Today was one such Monday.
It started relatively well. The Moosebaby woke up for his morning bottle around 5:30, ate, and went back to sleep snuggled up next to me in my bed. I guess we looked so peaceful that Ben decided to leave us be and asked if I wanted to take him to Baby School, to which I replied with as vigorous a head nod as I can manage at 6:15 am.
All was going well (I knew what I was wearing and it was clean and ironed, my new haircut is incredibly easy to style, and Moosebaby was happy and mellow as always) until Bob started that damned can't-be-out-of-my-field-of-vision shit. Ugh. I don't know if it's his anxiety or a phase or what, but it's fucking annoying as all get out, and makes it very difficult to get the three of us (or the two of us for that matter, when it's just he and I) out the door in time. I noticed the hands on the clock moving faster than I could get him to move, and the mood of the morning began to turn.
It turned even worse when I went down to the basement to get Bob a coat. The weather has only recently turned cold, and the jacket he wore home from db's yesterday smelled like smoke, so I decided to pull out the BRAND NEW coat I bought him last spring when they were all on clearance--the coat that's been wrapped in two Target bags and hanging from a pipe in the basement ceiling. I got the hanger down, pulled off the two layers of Target bags, and discovered the hood was Full. Of. Dog. Food.
You're probably scratching your head right now and wondering if either you read that wrong or I'm high on crack cocaine. Neither. See, we have at some point either harbored or are harboring a rodent. Said rodent was stealing dog food from the OPEN bag my darling husband was keeping in the lower level closet, and socking said stolen dog food away in various and sundry rodent-friendly storage units. A couple of months ago, I pulled a pair of rubber rain boots of Bob's out of a storage bin in the basement and found one of them full of dog food--highly troublesome, since at that time I had no idea how that happened and could not figure it out for the life of me. Not long after that, I found one of our Halloween decorations full of dog food, and again, I was stumped. Some time after that, I figured out we had an unwelcome squatter and found an old diaper bag full of dog food. Now that I knew what was up, I told my husband in no uncertain terms that the dog food needed to be removed from our living quarters or else the dog would be. And I thought the problem was solved.
Well, I apparently had not yet discovered all the fucking rodent's hiding places. Now, staring at the hood of my kid's BRAND NEW coat full of kibble, I could see that nasty thing stealing dog food from the closet...running up into the ceiling tiles...scampering through the basement along that pipe...and wiggling its way into the plastic bags to deposit its booty in the hood. And I was as pissed off as I was grossed out.
But as I said, we were running late, it was cold, and my options were few. Ashtray-smelling not-warm-enough jacket, or rat-sullied coat?
I went with the rat-sullied coat. And told Bob "don't wear the hood. I'll wash it tonight."
Then there was the matter of the car seat. Ben is still using the infant carrier seat, which snaps into a base, which stays in Ben's car. I have a regular infant-to-toddler car seat that does not have a base but takes up damn near half my back seat. When I take Moosebaby to Baby School, Ben takes his car seat with him so he has it when he picks the baby up at the end of the day. Today, he forgot to take it with him. And I, not thinking, strapped the baby into it and then realized I had nowhere to put it.
And this is the part where I look like Britney Spears and invite all sorts of comments about what a horrible parent I am and calls from Children's Services.
Bob School and Baby School are both within walking distance of our house. So against my better judgment, I jury-rigged the infant carrier car seat in between Bob and my car seat. And we made it to Bob school and all was well.
Until I headed down a hill right in front of Baby School and felt the infant carrier slide down off my back seat. I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw poor Moosebaby's feet up in the air. And he hadn't made a peep.
Oh shit oh Jesus his head must be wedged under my seat oh Jesus oh fuck what am I going to do oh God I've killed the baby.
I threw the car in park, yanked up the emergency brake, jumped out and opened the back door--and there was Moosebaby, tipped upside down with his car seat, just smiling at me like "hi, Mom, what the fuck?"
So I got him out of the car, took him inside, got him out of the seat, and hugged him so hard I probably cracked a few of his tiny little ribs. He didn't seem too phased by any of it, and took his place on the floor to stare at one of the other babies. Bye, Mom, try not to cause any other children bodily harm on your way to work!
And OF COURSE Bob had to tell his teacher that his hood had been full of dog food and stunk, and "she sprayed it with some stuff." Lovely. Truly lovely.
But the day is over, the coat is washed, the rodent is on my shit list, I've learned a valuable lesson about traveling with babies and the Moosebaby and I have made a deal (he never mentions this incident to his father, and I'll buy him a very nice car for his 16th birthday).
I really wish I hadn't given up smoking.
posted by Mitzi Green at 5:48 PM
4 Comments:
I want to leave something witty... But I can't get past laughing at the line "Hi, Mom, What the Fuck?"
Ha! The image of the baby tipped upside down and not crying about it is so funny I'm still laughing!
I'm sorry, but even after this I still think you're a better parent than Britney. Although the visual of Moosebaby upside down is killing me right now.
LOL. I know it's not funny, but I am right there with Gretchen.
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