Today we all woke up on time and happy.
It would not last.
Within the hour I was in full-on beast mode, trying to round up everyone’s socks and shoes and tutus and backpacks as we prepared for school/dance class, screaming classic mom-isms like “Close your mouth and eat your cereal!!! I don’t care! Just do it!”
This was Violet’s final dance class of the spring session, and so they let the parents come in and watch. It’s not a full-blown recital or anything like that, but still, Fiona was really bummed that she would miss it (since I deliberately scheduled Violet’s dance class at the same time as Fiona’s preschool), so we decided to pull her out of class for an hour so she could come watch her little sister. (And yes, I realize how ridiculous it is to take her out of a 2-hour school day for one hour, but she also was concerned she would miss all her work, and since school is actually between the house and the rec centre, it’s no skin off my teeth.)
Anyways, I brought the two little ones to the rec centre for dance class and Nate (who was going in to work late) stopped to pick Fiona and they were meeting us there. I got to class, and noticed that everybody was just dropping the kids off and heading for the coffee place downstairs as usual… I finally asked, “Uh, isn’t today the last class?”
And no, it wasn’t. It’s next week.
Quick call to Nate to tell him to please disregard the picking Fiona up bit. Please bring her back to school. Sorry. I’m an idiot.
In my defense, though. I did check the rec centre website last night and it SAID today was the last class. I just completely forgot that they’d cancelled class once last month and so they extended it by a week. So… there’s that.
Then after dance, Violet saw one of the girls in her class eating a cookie, and so I got to listen to her tantrum and scream “I. Really. Want. A. Cookie. Carry me! I want to walk! I do it myself! Cookiiiiiiiiiie!” for a half hour. So that was fun.
After preschool pickup I really was just all sorts of irritated, mainly because Fiona immediately started whining and begging to go to Ikea for lunch and so I had to say no because the attitude was horrific but DAMN that was actually my plan in the first place so why do I have to be punished for her whining?
As an aside, the begging? It’s bad right now. To the point that the other night at bedtime I overheard this conversation. (And I am not making this up. These are direct quotes.)
Violet: MaaaaaaaaaMA. MAMA! MAMA. Come in!!!
(I was resolutely ignoring her from the hallway.)
Violet stompily gets back in bed, crying.
Fiona: Violet, just beg beg beg beg beg! She’ll come in! Try it!
Violet immediately stops crying, opens door a crack.
Violet: (sweetly) Mama? Please come in and read me another story? Please please please please please please?
Fiona: With a cherry on top, Mama? Please will you read another story?
I just. What?
Where was I? Oh yes. Not giving into begging for lunch at Ikea. I decided to go to Target instead. (Because yay, Target! Finally!)
So we got to Target. They have these ridiculous carts at Target, with enough buckles for three kids. Except instead of being the size of those car carts at the grocery store, which are bad enough already, this one is basically a regular, full-size cart, with a double stroller strapped to the handle end. It’s laughable. I felt like I was pushing a parade float.
I bow before the mighty Amber of Crappy Pictures, who of course illustrates the hilarity of these carts far better than I.
Anywho, back to my story. Targeting it up. Thankfully Target felt much more Targety today. I needed it. (The first time I went was the week they opened, and it was very Walmarty. Just a bunch of Wally-World looky-loos coming in to complain about the few extra cents they charge for laundry soap and the lack of quadruple-XL sizes. (I overheard both of those specific complaints while there last time, and I think I chuckled and fought the urge to say “go back to Walmart, you’re ruining my shopping experience” out loud.) Plus since everyone was so excited to go to Target, the poor employees just couldn’t keep up and it was messy.)
But today. Today I walked in and it was all gleaming retail therapy and just exactly what I needed to turn this crummy morning around.
Except one little thing. This particular Target is connected to a mall, and so it’s laid out like your JC Penneys or your Sears. Two levels. With an elevator in case you have a cart that needs to go up to the second floor.
And here’s the trouble- my huge-ass cartfull o’ children isn’t really designed to fit into a regular size elevator. And so I had to maneuver it on a very precise angle to get the elevator doors to close behind me. I managed it okay on the way up, but botched the approach on our descent. As I tried to like lift and slide the cart, (shouting “PIVOT! Pi-VOT!” in my head), I finally was able to wrest the cart free of the doors. And as I backed out of the elevator I heard a small smack and then a jangle. What. just. fell. Please let it not be my keys. Please let it be a flip-flop. Please let it be my new sunglasses. Please tell me I did not leave my keys halfway hanging out of my back pocket like an idiot like I always do. But of course it was my keys. I bumped into the doorway as I backed out and my keys somehow fell straight down into the elevator shaft.
I desperately emptied the contents of my purse, hoping against hope that I’d been hearing things, that nothing fell, who me, drop my keys under an elevator? No sir, my keys are safe here in a pocket designed specifically to contain just such important things. But no. I did find my missing house keys though. They’re on a separate ring. Because I need more things to lose.
I calmly approached the cashier, explained the situation, and waited as they found the maintenance guy. Everybody kind of stood around peering at and around the elevator for awhile, and then it was determined that this was beyond the skills of the in-house staff, they needed to call the elevator people. And that could take hours.
So I paid for my merchandise, got myself some Starbucks, let the kids literally tear into a box of granola bars, and sat down to wait for the hubs to come to our rescue. Thank goodness for that poor man. Luckily he doesn’t work too far away, and was able to dart right over with the spare car keys.
At least it wasn’t my wallet?
Although I have already left my wallet at Target on two different occasions, so maybe I’ve hit my quota on that one.
I left my name and number at customer service. I hope the keys turn up.
In this picture Violet is on her second granola bar. She lost the first one when she went to throw the wrapper into the trash can and accidentally threw away the granola bar and walked back over to me, holding the empty wrapper. It took her a good 15 seconds to realize what had happened. Poor kid takes after her Mama.
Annndd then when I finally got home I realized that the area rug I bought for our newly decorated, grown-up, and actually-nice-to-be-in bedroom (now with no more clean laundry piles!) was not gray, as I had believed it to be, but was actually a dusty blue. Which won’t go at all with our new yellow and white duvet cover. Son of a biscuit.