Well, during that nap I got a total of TWO chain texts about forwarding to 23,874,933 people or else a meteorite will fall from the sky and hit you in the gut, causing your spleen to rupture and leak spleen juice, attracting wild boars to eat your face off. Or something. Then I get a call from who knows who. So now I'm laying in bed wide awake debating whether I should go look in case it's an emergency and someone's trying to get a hold of me. Eventually I go look, and the call is from some medical corporation I've never heard of and they didn't bother leaving me a message. Probably another call for Donna, the previous owner of my phone number, who failed to notify ANYONE that her phone number changed, and also apparently enjoyed being called at ungodly hours of the morning. But that's a rant for another day. Now after I've gotten up, checked these texts and missed call, sworn unholy revenge on the chain-texters and this mysterious Donna, I went back into bed, plopped my head down on the pillow for exactly .0004 seconds and heard A wake up. No nap time for mommy today. Big surprise.
Then came lunch, and our trip to the grocery store. Poor little E hates her carseat, so I was rushing to get everyone into the car, and remember a sippy for A, water bottle for me, my purse, my phone, my keys, don't let the cat out, make sure A doesn't fly headfirst down the stairs, or run into the parking lot once we get outside, etc. I forgot the shopping list. And I have the memory span of a goldfish. This was gonna be fun! So we spent an hour shopping at Stop & Shop, and E started fussing right as I was finishing up. I hurried into a line ASAP only to discover I had managed to get the s-l-o-o-o-o-w-e-s-t, oldest cashier in the history of mankind. This lady went to Jesus' baby shower. We spent about 45 mins in the line as she rung up each item, looked it over, made sure it rung up correctly, then placed it over in the bagging area so her partner-in-crime Slowpoke McBaggyPerson could also perform her job as slow as she could manage. By this time E was crying. Oh, but don't worry! Every old person in a 50 mile radius thought it was cute, and stopped to tell me so. Every person younger than George Washington gave me the evil eye.
By the time we got home, E was crying hard, so I ran her upstairs to put her in her swing and hopefully buy me a few mins to at least get the perishables put away. No such luck. She's screaming her head off at this point, and I have no choice but to feed her... while I go up and down the stairs for bags of groceries. Imagine a woman, baby on boob, loading up her free hand/shoulder with bags and bags of groceries. An entire trunk full. Had there not been so many perishables, I would have just left them, but I had milk and meat and such. As if this weren't bad enough, the school bus had just let off all the kids in our complex, and they were now walking toward me horrified at the prospect of walking past a lady with her boob hanging out, carrying twice her weight in food. I think I was the equivalent to the crazy lady with a shopping cart and a lampshade on her head.
Eventually I got all of the food upstairs, so it was time for me to get A upstairs too. I managed to get him out of his carseat with one hand, all the while letting E keep eating, and into the foyer of our building. That was when he decided it was perfect timing for a toddler meltdown. Right onto the floor he went, face first, not realizing that the foyer was tiled, not carpeted, which caused even louder screams. After 5 painfully long minutes of trying to coerce him up the stairs, I finally gave up, grabbed a handful of the back of his overalls and prayed Carters' clothes were strong. I hoisted him up the stairs by his overalls while he cracked up laughing. And yes, E was still on the boob. We all got inside, I put away the groceries, put A down for a nap (lets hope that meltdown didn't give him a concussion, lol), fed E until she fell asleep and plopped my tired butt down on the couch.
Hey, what do you know, the CO detectors are going off again! Well this ends the post, as I need to go let the fire department in. This is just the peanut atop the crap of my day I guess.
I deserve a freakin' award. Someone send me a trophy!
“It's not easy being a mother. If it were easy, fathers would do it.” - The Golden Girls