In case you are new to my blog/life, I hate Mondays.
Yesterday was no different. I wrapped up a grueling day at the office while racing against the clock. I had made it a personal goal to leave the office no later than 3:30.
At 4:45 I arrived at home to begin my weekly evening as a single mom.
In preparation, I gave myself my weekly mental pep talk.
1. Be calm.
2. Be patient.
4. Cook dinner, don’t order out.
5. Don’t scream at anyone.
These five points are repeated over and over and over in my mind for the six minute ride home.
Upon entering the house, I am immediately greeted with a “baked funk.” Maisy made “cupcakes.” Again.
She shrugs her shoulders to my questioning and instructs me that I need to get her to School of Rock. “I am late again, Mom!” She is not impressed that I may have actually been doing something important–at work–in my job–as a DOCTOR.
On the way back, I convince Haddie and Sam that we should go to Miss J’s house for her famous egg curry. Technically, I did not order out. I just did not cook.
The ice cream is where it all went sour.
After getting double scoops at our fave little place, Margo’s and the Pinball Gallery in Downingtown, we walk out to the car. Immediately Sam and Maisy are racing around to fight over the front seat. Maisy wins and Sam pouts in the back seat. Haddie decides to chime in “It is too fair Sam!” He screams at her. She retaliates by leaning over and crushing his ice cream cone like an angry monster. Now there are kids screaming and chocolate ice cream dripping into the back seat.
Of course, I have the “nice” car not the “kid” car.
The car is literally still rolling to a stop when I force all three out.
I am not patient, calm or funny. I am screaming my head off.
SHOWERS NOW! DOG FOR A WALK NOW! JAMMIES ON! BEDTIME! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.
There is minimal protesting and by 8:45 everyone is in bed.
I collapse in the comfy chair in my bedroom, forget that I am supposed to be detoxing after my alcohol laden vacation, and chug a cold Corona.
The minute Chris walks in, I break down and sob. I tell him the entire tale up to and including the ice cream fiasco. He understands that I am not really angry at the kids but myself. I failed every promise I made on my way home.
In his typical way, Chris “breaks it down.” In the end, quitting work, hiring a full time nanny, and moving to Panama are all dismissed as unlikely solutions. Before I know it, I am laughing and slipping into the kids rooms to sneak them each an apologetic good night kiss.
Emotionally spent, I slept like a rock until the emergency alert on my phone about flash flooding and storms and….not my concern. Thunder crashes and I go right back to bed. I vaguely feel Chris get up and shower. I don’t move. Then, somehow I notice that he is taking longer than usual to leave. I open my eyes at a few minutes before he is to be at work and he is still putting on pants. I don’t ask.
When two cups of joe have cleared my head, I notice the sopping wet cargo pants in the kitchen. I don’t have it in me to question.
It is hours later that Chris breaks it to me.
In my irrational eviction of my kids from the car, I failed to shut the sunroof and windows. Since the garage is a graveyard of scooters, bikes and Penny boards all summer, the wide open BMW has been in the driveway. In the storm. In the torrential rain. With the windows open.
Afraid for my sanity, Chris went out in full work garb and attempted to sop up water with hundreds of beach towels.
His clothes got soaked in the process, explaining the wet pants in the kitchen.
As I collected the wet towels and wiped down every surface, one shimmer of light emerged.
Remember Hadley’s enraged crushing of the ice cream cone? Well, the BMW may now be a mushroom growing spot rivaled by the best farms in Kennett Square, but, there is no longer any ice cream on that back seat.