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I have a list of things I wish someone would invent:
1. Lysol Bombs, shaped like grenades. Pull the pin, drop in your home’s hallway, and run to a resort for a few days. Return to a bacterial blank-slate. Immediately repopulate home with germs from the indoor pool and that Waldorf salad you had for dinner 24 hours earlier. Luckily, Lysol Bombs come in a convenient 2-pack. Look for the coupon in this Sunday’s paper.
2. Potpourri I can sprinkle down Joel’s arm cast. Hell hath no stench like a toddler boy’s big green fiberglass and plaster cast.
3. Crayons fortified with vitamins, calcium, and iron. If the kids want to eat crayons, it would be nice to get more out of the experience than technicolored poos. Same with Playdoh.
4. Venus Fly-Bed. When the kids jump on the bed, it snaps shut. That will be the last time they jump on any bed. I guarantee it. No more singing “Three Little Monkeys” until you are hoarse as deterrent-of-choice! The lyrics would change to “three little monkeys jumping on the…BUUUURRRPP” The bed wouldn’t actually digest anyone. Of course.
5. An inspiring superhero named Captain Wipe-Your-Own-Bottom-You’re-Old-Enough. And his sidekick, Mr. Handwash-Pronto (he’s British). He has a dog, named Andusesoap.
6. A food processor that forms every food into the shape, color, taste, and texture of a McDonald’s Chicken McNugget while maintaining the integrity of the original food’s nutritious value.
7. Time machine.
8. Walk-in washing machine and sauna-sized dryer. Maybe the fine folks behind the Hummer can develop my new washer and dryer combo. The cool thing about it is that you can wash your car in it too. Don’t forget to roll up the windows. Those scratches? They were already there, I swear.
9. Could someone invent the inventor to invent these things?
Tommy thinks we left the baby at the allergist’s office.
It’s been two weeks since we found out our little one was gone. Before my appointment with the midwife that day, I took Sam to get his allergy shot. Tommy liked to talk about the baby that was in my tummy–he told everybody, including the medical assistant who gave Sam his shot, that a new baby was coming to his house.
We sat through Sam’s twenty minute wait, reading “Forbes” and learning how to get rich in a slow and steady manner. When we got to the minivan, I rewarded the boys’ good behavior with some Girl Scout cookies and told them there would be more if they did a good job at the next appointment.
“Where are we going?”
“To the baby-in-mommy’s-tummy-doctor.” Try to teach “obstetrician” to a 3 year old. “If you listen very closely, you might get to hear our baby’s heartbeat!”
That exciting prospect didn’t happen, of course.
So, in Tommy’s mind, the baby was present and fine at the allergist because we talked about our new baby. But at the next appointment we were told the baby was gone. Where did the baby go?
The baby must be at the allergist’s office.
Like a mitten that has fallen out of the pocket, unseen, it got left behind, forgotten until needed when a frosty day bites all your exposed parts. You hope someone found the mitten and put it in a cardboard box in the backroom, labelled with a black Sharpie “Lost and Found”. The next time you are in the same place where the mitten went missing, you ask about it. Maybe you are allowed to churn all the other left-behind objects around in the cardboard box as you search. You are amazed by how much stuff gets lost, and how many people are missing things.
Today I took Sam back to the allergist’s office, along with Tommy and Joel. It was my first time going back–hubby got that duty in between these two Thursdays.
I left no one behind.
Another national holiday of the patriotic sort has arrived. Washington and Lincoln are men whose colossal contributions to our nation deserve to be recognized. Too bad the celebration has become a big opportunity to save thousands of dollars on furniture and used cars. Government offices and agencies are closed, so I am spared the arduous walk to mailbox at the end of the driveway. Yes, it is truly a holiday when I do not receive Pizza Hut coupons.
As with every holiday, I try to inject meaning and relevance into the day for the sake of the kids. Today was no exception. I tried…but I failed.
This morning they built a big pirate ship out of the kitchen chairs and several blankets. After a few sword fights and a few owies, the pirate ship was abandoned off the coast of the living room. A one-woman salvage crew cleared the shipwreck, but only after Joel peed all over one of the sails. I wish I could have injected relevance and helped their cultural literacy by connecting Washington and Lincoln with a band of surly preschool pirates, but it was a stretch.
Next on the agenda was a viewing of “Mickey’s Twice Upon a Christmas”, decided by popular vote. Had the electoral college (me) become involved, I would have picked “Notting Hill”, but it, like the electoral college, is not understood by children so I had to press the “play” button and watch Mickey celebrate Christmas. Historical relevance had slipped away, much like Goofy sledding down a snowy hill, much like Donald losing his temper. Again.
Today was unseasonably warm and sunny, so after the movie the kids were sent outside to play in the “pig mud”, as Tommy refers to portions of our backyard. It was good to see them get fresh air in February without having to bundle them up. Their boots, however, began to resemble platform shoes because a good three inches of mud got packed onto the soles. After awhile they began to congregate at the backdoor, clamoring for lunch. I felt a little like Andrew Jackson, letting his bedraggled and backwoods buddies into the pristine and pirate-ship free interior of the White House. One of the hazards of outside playtime on muddy days is that eventually the kids want to come inside and whoop it up, swing from some chandeliers and swig milk.
The holiday continued through a Macaroni and Cheese lunch, attempted naps with heated negotiations and a threatened popsicle embargo, to now. The only thing I will take away from today is the sense that being President must be an exhausting job. Kind of like another job I am well-familiar with.
Hail to the mommy.
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