I should have stayed in bed. But how could I have?? I am responsible for 4 human beings. I have to feed them, clothe them, pray they didn’t lie when they promised they brushed their teeth, but I was changing the baby’s 2nd poopy diaper of the morning already so I was unable to make sure the pearly whites were getting a good scrub. All the fun stuff.
Today. Today was a doozy morning. I woke up at exactly 3:34am to the screaming. Before I even opened my eyes, I knew the tone and pitch of Hank’s wail. More specifically, I knew the tone and pitch of Hank’s bed-wetting-wail. So I did what any great mom does, I threw my blankets over my head and tried not to cry. (HOW DO HUSBANDS SLEEP THROUGH THIS SHIT!?!?!?!) I then got out of bed, calmed down my screaming four year old and walked to the laundry room with him. Here I told him to take off his pants, I grabbed a not too dirty looking towel out of the “to-be-washed” pile and had him rub down his bits and his legs. I then handed him a pair of pajama pants that I 1,000% know that he hates, but I was tired and willing to try my luck.
The wail. The fucking wail. “I DON’T LIKE THESE KINDS OF PAAAAAAAANTS!!!!!! THEY FALL OFF OF MY ANKLES!!!!* AND BESIIIIIIIIDES. I WANT SHOOOORRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTSSSS!!!!!!” I am so good at deep breaths. I am the Gandhi of the Turner household. So I take a deep breath. I try not to screamcrylosemyshit. And I glance at the shelf before me and lo and behold. He has a pair of pajama shorts on his pile. Done. We’ve gotten through the crisis. I tuck him in my bed. I use the bathroom myself because this ENTIRE time I have been shaking like a damn leaf. And then I go and ever so quietly strip his bed. (He shares a room with a brother and a tortoise. Neither of which I wanted to disturb.)
So we lay down. My Dick is still deafly sleeping. My Hank is well on his way. I AM WIDE AWAKE. The last time I look at my watch, it says 4:29am. My alarm went off at 4:55am. D.I.S.M.I.S.S.
Fast forward to 6:51am. I JUMPED out of bed. Almost cracking Hank in the head with my elbow and very close to knocking Valerie onto the floor. Because, SURPRISE! Valerie snuck into my bed too. I run to wake Ricky up because we are never up later than 6:30am. The little shit is sitting at the counter waiting for his Honey Nut Cheerios and watching some nerdy animal documentary on my iPad. So I get everyone’s cereal, milk, COFFEE. And the morning goes relatively smoothly. There were a few bumps, like Georgie sleeping in so he interrupted my coffee and I never got to finish. But so minor it was laughable.
I get Ricky on the bus. Practically skip into the house because I am seriously kicking ass on like 5 hours of sleep. I walk in from the garage, ask Alexa to set an alarm to start my car and I feed Georgie his breakfast. The alarm goes off, I slip on my awesome crocs and I head out to start the van so it can warm up for 15 minutes. I open the door and BOOM.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Where in the actual fuck is my key fob?! Is it not in the purse that I just brought out!? Does a kid have it in the house!? I scramble to turn on the van. It starts. Key fob is IN the van. But not in my purse. Oh. And it’s still going. The beeping that is.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Now what you have to understand is the echo. Our 2 acres butts up to 64 acres of soy bean fields. They can here my beeping like 589 miles away at this point. So here I go, “Hey. St. Anthony? Finder of lost things? It’s me again. Yes, I know this is the third time this morning. But please help a sister out!” And there it was. On the passenger floor. I grab it. Hit ALLLL the buttons and run in the house to make sure the children are alive.
We finish getting Hank ready for school. Bundle the fat baby up. Get our winter coats, hats, boots, gloves, “VAL YOU CANNOT WEAR A SUMMER DRESS OUTSIDE IT IS 26 DEGREES!”, pants and bad attitudes. We go out to the nicely warmed up van. I go to open the back passenger door… frozen shut. I put Georgie’s carseat down and curse my husband for not letting me park in the garage because of his precious camaro. (Don’t even get me started.) I try the sliding door again. Not budging. Okay the other side already works. I was in it a little bit ago. Grab the driver side handle. Pull. Pull again. And drop an eff bomb in front of my kids. (Shocking, I know.)
I locked my fucking keys inside the van!!!!! IDIOT. SO STUPID. I grab everyone. Now we’re all sweating from the struggle and the sun and I won’t let anyone take off any layers yet. Kids are crying, Mom is going insane laughing at herself one minute and trying not to cry the next.
I call the local PD. The dispatcher, class act! She will send someone out as soon as possible. I message the teacher that Henry is going to be super late because Mommy is an idiot. I look over at Valerie and SHE IS IN HER DAMN SUNDRESS AGAIN! I redress her. I text my husband. Said husband calls back and just laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
He then suggests a couple of tricks that I have already tried. But now I have to try again because my knight in shining armor is here to talk me through them. I leave Hank in charge, (seriously may as well leave Georgie in charge), and walk out whilst on the phone with Lancelot. I get up to the van, I hear a weird noise and the phone goes dead. Only it’s not dead. It sounds like Dickie is a million miles away. OOOOHHHH!! He is connected to my bluetooth. So basically, DICK IS IN MY CAR AND I AM NOT!!!!
So. Lord ThinksHeIsHelpful is no help at all. I go back in and Hank comes running that a police officer pulled in the driveway. Mr. Police Officer knocks on the door. I sign the “in case I damage your car it is your dumbass fault for locking your keys in it in the first place” release form. I tell him I will be out in a minute. I get everyone back into their coats and hats and forget the gloves. I am so over it all at this point. I walk out. And the kind young officer hands me my keys. “I can’t believe how easy it was to get into your car just now.”
And that was just my morning. It was a doozy. It was nutso. It was sweaty. But it is funny. Now.
Hope ya’ll had a great Thursday. Remember… you will get through it and you will look back and laugh. There is ALWAYS something to laugh about.
God bless ya’ll.
*when Hank says that his pants “fall off of his ankles” what he means is… he only likes pants with tight cuffs. HAHAHAHAHA.
Turnering Our House Into A Home 