Oh where should I start….
I’m not even going to get into the details. Just not a great day from the girls. Extra fighting. Extra meltdowns – public meltdowns. You know….nothing blog-worthy to other been-there-done-that moms.
It all really started when I decided to try a recipe from The Pioneer Woman. Every one I know raves about her. I tried that nasty sugary cookie recipe. Although, it didn’t come from her blog per se. It came from her spin-off cooking website where people can submit recipes. Something like that. I’ll let it slide this time.
So I’m browsing….this one looked good.
I LOVE spicy foods. Tears, sniffles, pounding the table, and red-cheeks at the dinner table is my definition of a good meal. I like to torture myself. I don’t know why but it’s heaven to me. I go through bottles of tabasco sauce every year. Everything tastes better with a few jalapenos. I can’t stand most Mexican restaurant’s salsa because it is so incredibly bland. I’m pretty sure I’ve killed my taste buds. If I don’t like a food, it’s generally because of the texture not the taste.
I head to the store with the girls with a quick mission to get what I need and leave. It was also 5 o-clockish – my least favorite hour. It wasn’t the best store shopping experience with the girls but I got out in record time.
We walk through the parking lot. I’m carrying Kate (who is leaning also helping “push” the cart). And Emma is at my right side pushing the cart as well. We are about two cars away from my car. A car comes out of a stall to my left and slams his brakes. He didn’t hit us. Really, not even close. I jumped a little bit but thought nothing of it by the time I got to my car.
I’m loading groceries. The girls are climbing into their seats from the back. I hear a voice say “excuse me” from behind me.
An old man is behind the wheel of the car that pulled out in front of us.
What kind of mother are you? How dare you let your daughters walk in front of cars like that!
Um…ok. They were beside me. They didn’t run in front of anything.
You are a terrible mother. You are lucky your daughters aren’t dead now. They could have been ran over by my car.
(This blew my top off. It was 5:00. I’m done for the day.)
Listen, old man. Pedestrians have the right-of-way. You should have checked several times before you pulled out. You went from park to reverse to go. You didn’t even check.
Yeah, you may have the right-of-way but what good does that do when your child is dead?
But if you would have hit anything, it would have been our cart.
You’re just terrible. Terrible mom. (Speeds off)
Of course, I think of a million things to respond with after I’m in the car, driving home. Mostly unmentionables. It was 5:00.
We get home. I start dinner.
Kate is in full potty-training mode now. I keep underwear on her at home all the time.
Kate comes running in from outside. She pulls off her underwear at the patio door and runs to her potty. She is dripping poop as she runs. It’s everywhere. It’s mushed in the carpet because it’s runny. Belle is licking chunks. Emma is screaming that Belle is licking chunks. There is poop smeared all over the potty chair from her butt cheeks. It was a definite go-straight-to-the-bath episode.
I get back to the kitchen and there is a small fire on our stove. I had oil on a high temperature (damn you, Pioneer Woman!!) and forgot about it while I was dealing with Kate. I have put out several fires in kitchens. I’m quite good at it. I knew water would make it worse, so I’m smothering it with another pan. That worked. No one hurt. Kitchen is fine. It was very small. Whew.
I start over, paying attention to the heat and oil.
My hands are full of cajun spices. I rub my eye….
I blindly turn off the stove and run into the bathroom. Emma and Kate just stare at me while sitting in bathtub. I was screaming. I had to get my contact out. Me, Ms. Dumbass, didn’t think to wash my hands. I try to grab my contact off my eye. I think I screamed louder than giving birth. Emma and Kate were getting their nervous cries. I got my contact out and place it on the counter. I force my fat head under the running tap. I would have bet money my eye was bleeding at this point. It wasn’t. I was ok, for the long term anyway. I finally got it cleaned out. I clean my contact. Clean my hands. Got the girls out of the tub. Let them run around naked (whatever it takes at this point). Back to cooking.
I finished the recipe. Made the girls their own pasta with marinara sauce.
Whew. And there ya go.
It was good. Although, I wish I made it spicier. Scott finally came home and got his plate. The only thing I could say was:
You are going to eat this. If you don’t like it, just keep eating and smile.
I’m not sure if Scott liked it or not. But he did eat everything off his plate.