Whoa! Where has the month went? Things have been crazy around here. We've had the usual children's activities, I'm working part-time now, my husband decided to go back to school (you know, in his spare time) and has been busy getting of that together, I've got volunteer commitments and various social engagements. Life is good, but man-o-man is it full. My cup runneth over.
I sat down this evening and realized that tomorrow is the first day of spring. Already! That means that spring break is right around the corner which means it's almost the end of the school year. The end of the school year always makes me a little melancholy. Another school year has come and gone in the annals of my children's lives. *sigh* Time marches on and with every passing year they slip farther away from me.
With children, it's so subtle at first. When they start to walk, the first time they wave good-bye, when they start school.....Then adolescence hits and it's not so subtle anymore. It screams in your face. It's a time when your kids start to realize that you aren't perfect and that you haven't really got it all figured out. When they question if they really NEED you? Besides financial support and chauffeuring, they know they need you for that.
This school year has been downright traumatic for me. My 10 year old has done the separation-thing and it has nearly killed me and broken my heart. I don't hold it against her and I realize that it is completely necessary and normal....but it is not easy. It's different this time around. When my oldest daughter began to be this way, I still had an 8 year old who thought I was the best, who insisted on me laying down with her every night and rubbing her back, who snuggled next to me whenever I sat. It made it easier, that I still had a little one left.
Now, here I am. It feels strange sometimes. The other night, my husband and I were sitting on the couch for almost 2 hours and didn't even see the children. They were in their rooms - doing whatever kids their age do - probably listening to music we wouldn't approve of and taking pictures of themselves. "I feel like I'm neglecting the kids right now," I said. My husband laughed, "More like they are neglecting us."
I had a good week with my youngest. She only rolled her eyes at me 9 times instead of 56. She didn't look at me like I had 3 heads when I asked her how her day was. She didn't call me a pervert when I told her she looked pretty. The other day, I was taking a nap and she came in and crawled onto me and laid her head on my back. I was so happy, like
There are so many things that we deal with that I can't even talk about. For all the things I do share, there are tons of things I don't because I DO value my kid's privacy. I could write an entire book about the horrors of puberty, the text messages that have been sent by boys, some questionable things they say...... It's the worst. Most days I walk around like
For instance, here are some sentences came out of my mouth recently:
"Guys, we don't listen to songs about cooking dope in a crockpot. Crockpots are for cooking chili and lasagna."
"I can see your entire bra. No, you can't wear that to school."
"You cannot have Dr. Pepper and a bag of popcorn for breakfast."
"Who is that boy and how old is he?"
And I have GOOD kids. I think they just like to see squirm. I don't just pray every night - I have a running conversation with God all day, every day. "Dear Lord, please protect these children....lead them in the way they should go....give me strength...."
The other week, I made jerk chicken for dinner. I purchased a new marinade and sliced fresh limes and cooked them in the crock pot. It smelled delicious and my mouth watered as I scooped it onto the plates. We all sat down to eat and the moment I bit into the chicken I knew it was a miss.
My oldest said, "It tastes like you marinated this in....hand sanitizer." I was so disappointed. "Don't worry, like, 90% of your food is delicious, mom." I do try. "Screw it!", I said, "Let's just go to Moes. It's Moe's Monday."
I thew the dinner in the trash - $7.98 worth of chicken. It hurt my heart. We ordered our food, sat down in a booth and chatted about our day. The girls were both in a good mood and were chatty. It was just a normal, delightful evening.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a lady and her family. She had two boys who were probably 3 and a half and 18 months old. She appeared to 5 months pregnant. She was quietly melting down on the 3 year old. She pulled a chair out from the table and put him in "time-out" and was talking sternly under her breath. The 18 month old is eating but getting his food everywhere. The dad is just sitting there eating, oblivious. Before long the mom lets the 3 year old back to the table and she looked so cross.
Then the 18 month old picked up his pacifier and I thought he was going to put it in his mouth but instead just threw it on the ground. That was the last straw for mom. She picked up the pacifier, threw it angrily into the trash can and said to the baby, "There! Are you happy? Now it's gone!!!"
She sat down at the table again and stared out into space. She looked tired. Her husband got the hint and got up, cleared the table and left with the kids. She sat there for a minute, looking defeated. Then she got up and struggled to collect her purse, a diaper bag, a sippy cup, a toy and left.
I felt bad for her and as she left, I said a little prayer for her strength and sanity. I know her life. I've lived that life. I had a 3 year old and a 1 year old. Kids are great and beautiful. Being a mother is amazing. But is it easy? Hell no! She probably had a rough day. This is the day in the life of a mom with two young kids: Wake up at 6 am and lament that you haven't had a good night sleep in 3 and a half years. Your husband gets ready for work, where he gets to talk to actual adults. You get up and change your first diaper of the day. Then, you make breakfast for the kids. The 18 month old will throw more food on the floor than they eat. The 3 year old will scream and cry that you gave them milk in the minion cup when they wanted the Mickey Mouse cup.
You sit on the couch and drink a cup of coffee while your kids watch Calliou and wonder how you will make it through the day. So tired. So, so tired. Plus, you hate Calliou, he's such a whiny b**ch. Your 3 year old needs to go potty, you help and supervise the butt wiping. Because, that is a parenting thing. While you're doing that, your 18 month old found a pen and has scribbled on the couch and her face. Where did that pen come from?
You clean up the kid and get both children dressed. You are going to take them to the park. It beats having to stay in the house and entertain them. Maybe there will be other adults you can talk to. First you have to pack a bag: diapers, wipes, change of clothes, sippy cups, water, snacks, changing pad. You've been doing this EVERY time you leave the house for 3 and a half years.
You go to the park and you push the kids on the swings for an hour. You catch them at the bottom of the slide. The 18 month old will fall in wood chips while running and will cry like her legs were cut off. You will wipe tears and console. Then you will go home to make lunch.
You make the kids lunch but your oldest refuses to use utensils. The youngest is cranky and throws food on the ground. You pray for strength. Then - nap time. The 18 month of falls asleep right away. The 3 year old fights and wants you to lay with her. You do, for 20 minutes, before she falls asleep. You WANT to fall asleep too but you can't. You have breakfast and lunch dishes to do, laundry to fold, and you have to scrub the pen off the couch.
You get all of that done and when you do, you breathe a sigh of relief, and sit down on the sofa for a moment of silence. The exact minute your bottom hits the seat, the 3 year old comes out and asks for a snack. Then your 18 month old wakes up too. While you are getting snacks, the 18 month old hides behind the couch and takes a dump.
You change the diaper and think, I can't wait until you use the potty because I'm tired of these man-poops. You let them watch Dora while they eat their snacks. You watch it too - because, f**k it! you have nothing better to do with your life. Dora goes on more adventures than you now-a-days.
After Dora, TV is off. The pediatrician says limit TV to an hour a day. You sit on the floor and play blocks and read them a book. You leave them to play with their toys while you fix dinner. While you are making dinner, the phone rings. It's your husband. "I'm going to be half an hour late tonight." FFFFFUUUUUUU, really?!?! REALLY?!?! "Okay, that's cool."
"Maybe we can, you know, tonight."
"Maybe."
Let's be honest - no one is doing anything tonight. You only have sex once a week, in the hall bathroom for the 3 minutes your kids are distracted while they're watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.
You put dinner in the oven and then you corral your children to come in the bathroom with you because you can't leave them unattended. They try to inadvertently kill themselves all the time. They sit on the floor in front of you and you read them Hop on Pop while you take a crap. Because, multi-tasking.
You try to finish dinner. Your 18 month old keeps coming in, opening the cabinet and throwing pot lids on the floor. Then your 3 year old has a melt down because the 18 month old took the red block. The 3 year old hits the 18 month old in the face with said block. They both start screaming. You console the 18 month old and put the 3 year old in time out.
You grab a boo-boo bunny from the freezer and apply it to the 18 month old's forehead because she's going to have a bruise. The kids are settled again. You are putting dinner on plates when your husband walks in. The kids run to him like he's a movie star, like it's the best thing that happened all day. You feel like chopped liver.
You put the 18 month old in the high chair and the 3 year old in the booster seat. They are actually eating it. You are surprised. You ask your husband about his day and he tells you about how the fax machine broke and how Lenny in HR is getting a divorce. You are jealous of his interesting life.
After dinner your husband rough houses with the children while you clear the table and do the dishes. Then it's bath time. Your husband goes to take off his work clothes and "relax". You fill up the bathtub with water and put both kids in. While you are washing the 3 year old, the 18 month old stands up and takes a piss. In the bathwater. You are too tired to even care. Isn't urine supposed to be sterile anyhow?
You take them out, dry them off. The three year old runs naked through the house as you diaper and clothe the 18 month old. You have to chase down the 3 year old to get her pajamas on. You feed them their evening snack then brush their teeth. Will the help of your husband, you have to physically restrain the 18 month old and pry open her mouth to brush her teeth. You wonder, Did I brush my teeth today?
You let the kids each pick out a book. If You Give A Mouse a Cookie and Goodnight Moon - AGAIN. You don't even need the books, you know them by heart. Goodnight, bowl full of mush....who the hell eats mush anyway.
You settle them into bed. You call your husband in. You kiss their heads and tell them goodnight. They smile and say "I wub you" and you know they are going to sit there and kick the wall before they actually fall asleep.
You take a shower for the first time today. It's one of the small luxuries in your life - a hot shower after the kids have gone to bed. You might actually FLOSS tonight - you are really getting your shit together. You get out of the shower and put on your pajamas. You tiptoe into the kids room and gaze at your children's sleeping faces in the moonlight. You melt into the floor. I love you so much. You are so beautiful and worth it.
You join your husband on the couch. "You look exhausted," he says. You ARE exhausted. When will you NOT be exhausted? You don't know - possibly never. Certainly not tomorrow or the next day. "I am too tired to play the piano, but you can touch my boobs if you want," you say. You have to throw a bone out there every now and then.
You try to watch a grown up show but you nod off at the commercial. Your husband wakes you at 9 pm and you shuffle to bed in a half-dreamlike stupor. Then you do it all again, the next day and the next and the next.
I never judge a mom with young kids. It is so incredibly hard. Insanely difficult. To the mom in Moes - you can do this. It's okay to melt down and be exhausted sometimes. Tomorrow is a new day.
I relayed the story of the Moe's mom to my husband and children after she left. "That sounds horrible!" said my 10 year old. Then I told some of the stories about them when they were that age. The time I was peeing in the stall with my 2 year old and she broke free and ran out. There I sat, with my pants down in front of two strangers, yelling for my daughter to come back. The time I let them hold a loaf of french bread in the grocery store and they were hitting each other with it, I ran over it with my cart after they dropped it and then ate half of it and I didn't realize until we were at check out. The time my daughter lifted up my skirt in front of 10 people at a random pharmacy.
The time my daughter was screaming "Stop hurting me!" over and over again in a library when I made her stand next to me because she was literally trying to climb shelves. The time my oldest daughter body slammed by youngest into the dairy section at Publix or when one tried to kick the other and her shoe flew off and went over the next aisle....That is just a small sample. Horrible, horrible things. It's shocking that I ever took them out in public.
But, here we were. Both children in public, eating dinner and enjoying it. No one was crying, no one was hitting each other, no one decided to randomly sit underneath the table, no one was throwing tortilla chips on the floor on purpose. When did that happen?
My life with older children is easier in a lot of ways, but harder in a lot of ways too. I'm still exhausted. I've been tired for nearly 13 years now. This is my new normal. My life is hectic, I am a mom. With bigger kids, come bigger problems. Your kids begin to deal with things that are out of your control, they have problems that you can't fix, they deal with heartbreak and disappointment and in those moments, I think that I would much rather have sleepless nights and wipe asses. I didn't appreciate how simple life was then. In 5 years I will probably feel that way about the stage I am now.
The point is, that being a parent is not easy. It is demanding. It is hard. It is wonderful. It is confusing. It is heart-breaking and heart-filling all at once. Somehow, we survive it and our kids survive us. It's kind of a miracle.
Wednesday started out as a normal day. I went about my normal routine and at 3 o'clock went to pick up my 10 year old to take her to gymnastics. I watched her walk out of the school but she wasn't smiling or talking to anyone.
She opened the door, plopped down in the passenger's seat and laid her head back. "Mom, I don't feel good. I've been achy all day, my throat hurts and I'm burning up," she groaned.
I reached over and placed my hand on her forehead. She was hot.
"When did you start feeling bad?" I asked.
"This morning," she replied.
"What the heck? Why didn't the nurse call me?"
"I didn't tell my teachers, I didn't want to bother them."
"Well, you have a cell phone. You could have just texted me," I said.
She shrugged, "I didn't want to bother you either."
I was so upset, thinking about my feverish child suffering all day long. Poor thing.
"Listen, if you feel sick EVER - you need to tell someone or call me and I will come get you. That is not bothering anyone."
"But I knew I could make it."
She is tough cookie. Meanwhile, my 12-year old texts me once every 2 weeks like, "My stomach hurts. Can you pick me up?" I fell for that one time. Picked her up from school and then she had the nerve to ask me if I'd take her to Chik-fil-a.
I drive my daughter home and the whole time I'm feeling like a horrible parent because my kid was ill all day and I was just going about my business. Bad Mom Award.
As soon as we got home I took her temperature - 101.2. Not alarmingly high, but high enough. Her baseline temperature is 97.5. It used to freak me out, but apparently some people have lower body temps. She must be some kind of reptilian shape-shifter or something. So even when she has a temp of 99, she presents as more ill than your average person.
I told her to take a shower. I made her a healthy snack and got her some medicine. She crawled into bed and I sat on the edge as she took her medicine. She looked up at me with her glazed eyes, "Thanks so much for taking care of me, mom. I love you so much. Will you lay with me?"
What?!?! Something is wrong with this child she must be REALLY sick. Somebody call 9-11.
She slept for a long time. Her fever went up and down and kept her hydrated and medicated. I took her into the doctor this morning and she tested positive for flu. The doc prescribed her Tamiflu and told me to keep her home and resting until next Monday.
She was supposed to participate gymnastics competition in Savannah on Friday. She had tears in her eyes. "Mom, I really wanted to go and now you wasted all of your money. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. You need to get better, there's no reason to be sorry. Sometimes things like this happen."
Besides, when you are a parent of a middle schooler, you constantly are just throwing money down the toilet. I was more upset that she wasn't going to get to go. She works so hard.
We drove to the pharmacy to drop off her prescription and she asked, "Can we go to Sonic and get corn dogs?"
Really, you have a fever of 102 and are barely holding your head up and you just want to go get corndogs?
"How about a Powerade slushie instead and I'll make you chicken noodle soup when we get home?"
She rested all day and she is in better spirits. Her fever is hanging out around 100. I just went in to check on her and I reached out to feel her forehead. She gave me a dirty look. "Stop trying to touch me, you pervert!"
I would say she's starting to feel better and getting back to her normal self.
Last night, I took the kids to the Twenty One Pilots concert. They were so excited. They came downstairs in their TOP tee-shirts and red eye shadow around their eyes. "What is that about?" I asked. They rolled their eyes. "Josh Dun does it, so we are paying homage to him." They asked like I was supposed to know that. Like I was supposed to give a sh*t about what kind of eye makeup some pop-rock guy wears. Newsflash: I don't care and ain't nobody got time for that.
I put on a Twenty One Pilots shirt too. I didn't want to dress like myself, because I would be super out of place. Twenty One Pilots is okay. I know all of their songs because the kids have made me listen to their album OVER and OVER and OVER again. When they were younger, it was the Wheels on the Bus on repeat. Now, it's crappy pop songs.
I can tolerate TOP infinitely more than other pop artists. I swear to God if they make me listen to that horrible Ariana Grande "Side to Side" song or that Ed Sheeran "Shape of You" song one more time, I am seriously going to lose it.
Twenty One Pilots music is kind of catchy. They don't drop F-bombs or talk about doing drugs, drinking alcohol or banging bitches. As a mom, I can appreciate that.
We picked up their friends and showed up to the venue. The line was long. We were waiting and one of their friends from school showed up, I'm going to call him Honey Badger. This kid is the funniest. "Can I just hang with you guys? My mom is working here." I shrugged.
"Do you have a ticket? What section are you in?"
He pulled out his ticket, "I'm not in your section but I'll still sit with you guys."
Well, okay. We got our tickets scanned and went to our seats. They were pretty much nosebleed seats. They were $50 but I had to buy FIVE tickets.
I could see the look on my 12-year olds face. "Listen, don't complain. It is a huge treat just to be here."
Honey Badger patted her on the shoulder, "Don't worry, I'll get us onto the floor." I rolled my eyes. Fat chance.
Honey Badger kept changing seats as people showed up but sure enough, he stuck around. Before long, the lights dimmed and the opening act came out - Judah and the Lion. I thought they were really good. I was impressed. They played a few songs and then the lead singer said, "I'm going to throw it back to my favorite song from fourth grade." Then they started playing Mr. Brightside by the Killers.
I thought, Didn't this song come out within the past 10 years? How is it that this is this grown-ass man's favorite song? I feel sooooooo old.
It was actually 13 years ago, but my sense of time is jacked up. I'm still old.
After Judah and Lions, Jon Bellion came out and did his thing. I thought he was really good. Then, it was intermission before the headlining event.
"It's hot in here. Let's go outside," Honey Badger suggested.
The kids thought that was a good idea and I just fell behind to ensure they didn't get into any shenanigans. Honey Badger was walking around like he owned the place. He had swagger. We got a whiff of some funky-skunky marijuana smell. "I know what that smell is because I've been to L.A.," Honey Badger said. I was dying.
We went back to our seats and waited for Twenty One Pilots to come on. The kids were on their phones. Then Honey Badger said, "Come on! We're going to the pit!"
"What? How? There are 6 of us!"
"I got the hook up," he said with a grin. So much swagger.
I was not believing this kid but we got up and followed him anyway. Sure enough, there were 6 wristbands waiting for us. I could not believe it. My kids were jumping up and down. All the girls crowded around Honey Badger and started hugging him. "Oh my God! You're the BEST!" Honey Badger was like
They were trying to get a good view but there were a lot of tall people. My oldest was trying to convince Honey Badger to give her a piggy back. I was trying to talk him out of it. They are both 12 but she is much bigger than him.
"How much do you weigh?" I asked.
"93 pounds."
"I weighed that when I got married," I said it outloud, mostly to myself, amazed that I was ever that thin.
"My mom was only 18," my daughter announced.
"I have to be 21...." Honey Badger said.
"To get married?"
He paused for a moment. "No, to play the piano. That's what my dad says but I'm probably not going to follow that rule.
My daughters were like Dude! I can't believe you just said that to my mom.
Kids now-a-days are wide open. I was like, "Thanks for sharing, lets never talk about that ever again."
The show started and the kids lost their minds. They were jumping up and down with their hands in the air, screaming out the lyrics. It was an impressive show. They were playing from different stages and we were right at the edge of the pit. When the lead singer ran by my daughter reached out and touched him.
She started to cry, actual tears. I'm going to have to hear about that sh*t FOREVER. During the last song, red confetti rained down over us. "This is the best night of my life," they said. Best money I ever spent.
Afterwards, we thanked Honey Badger profusely and parted ways. We sat in traffic forever and then I dropped off their friends and headed home. They didn't get to bed until 12:30 am.
I thought it would be rough getting them up for school the next day but they were in some kind of post-TOP-concert adrenaline rush. My oldest jumped out of bed. "Oh my God! I can't wait to tell everyone that I touched Tyler- it was so lit, fam!" Translation: I am excited to inform everyone that I touched the lead singer from Twenty One Pilots. It was a really amazing experience.
I am exhausted. I know, I've been saying that for years, a little over 12 and a half years to be exact. The past month has been especially brutal. I got sick again. I thought my horrible 2 week cold in December would take me up to my quota, but no. We ALL had the crud in January. My husband was sick for 2-3 days, then my oldest, then my youngest, then me. It was bad. The kids were home from school, my husband was home from work. We were taking NyQuil like:
In addition to being sick I started a job, my husband decided to go back to college, my daughter had 2 gymnastic competitions, my oldest tried out for America's Got Talent and got braces (AGAIN), we've attended and thrown parties, I've cooked 50+ meals and packed 40+ lunches and have done countless loads of laundry, driven 3,000 miles shuffling my children to here and there and everywhere. My husband was in DC at some point and is headed to Colorado next week.
In addition to the physical demands of simply maintaining my family and household, I am emotionally exhausted. Having two daughters in middle school means that someone has a crisis every day. I am not kidding you, EVERY DAY of my f**king life. Some kind of meltdown. Here is a short list of some meltdown scenarios:
"I cannot find my shoes anywhere." Panic ensures, accusations of not being helpful follow.
"I'm not going to school ever again. Pull me out!" Some bullshit about a teacher.
"I got an 80 on a test. I hate my life!" Self-explanatory.
"My pores! Look at them! I need a charcoal mask." What?
"You PROMISED you would take me shopping for new clothes! You are a liar!" Never promised anything.
"Some kid was mean to me!" Teary-eyes.
It's always something. I'm always worried about something going on with these kids or something that needs to be done/purchased. I don't know how I'm going to get these kids through high school with my sanity intact.
It's taking a toll on my husband too. The other night we sat down on the couch together to watch a show at the end of the day. We'd both worked and then spent hours cooking/cleaning/shuffling kids/dealing with their non-crisis crises. "This is so HARD. Is it supposed to be this hard?" he asked.
"I don't know. I think," I replied.
Surely, we are doing something wrong. Other people make this whole parenting/life thing look EASY. There was a class about how to raise kids without dissolving into pure exhaustion and insanity and we missed it, we were not invited.
I leaned my head on his shoulder and we watched our show together in peace - a rare occurrence. I fell asleep 10 minutes in.
So I had a birthday recently. A few weeks ago, but it feels like forever ago already. I do not care about my birthday. I don't hate my birthday or anything, I'm just not that into it. We have cake and a special dinner. I'm low key.
It annoys my husband that I don't get excited about my birthday. He always is trying to get me a ridiculous present. "What do you want for your birthday?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"I can't get you nothing."
"Put an extra $100 in our savings account."
"That is not a gift."
Seriously! I am telling you - not getting me a gift IS a gift to me. Acts of service, that's what I want."
I don't need any more crap. I'm not into it. I don't care about gifts in general. Do the dishes, fold laundry, shuffle the kids, rub my feet..... I'll take that over anything store brought. I'm simple, a utilitarian kind of woman.
In addition to my not being into gifts, I annoyed him a few weeks before my birthday when I said, "Did you know that Winston Churchill AND his father died on my birthday? That means that my birthday is the Churchill death day."
He was so upset about it. Truly bothered.
"That sucks, I don't want you to be sad on your birthday."
I was like, "Whoa! Slow down - I was stating a historical fact. I didn't know Winston Churchill personally or anything. I'm not going to be mourning on my birthday...."
The day before my birthday, I got a message from a high school friend that shares a birthday with me. We exchanged birthday greetings and remarked about how much time had passed. "Now it's just counting down until the kids are out of the house."
I thought about that for a moment and counted in my head. My youngest daughter will turn 18 in seven and a half years. In 7.5 years I will no longer be legally responsible for my minor children. THAT is truly something to think about.
My birthday came around on a Tuesday. My husband served me breakfast in bed at 5:51 in the morning. I was not happy about it. He has got to stop doing that. He does not like for me to sleep. I swear to God it's some kind of conspiracy.
The day went on as usual, I have a household to run. Dishes needed to be done, laundry to be folded, kids to be shuffled. We went out for pizza and then did cake and candles that evening. It was nice and low-key.
That night I went upstairs and said to my daughter, "Can you believe that your mom is 34?"
She looked at me like I was crazy. "Mom, you just turned 33."
"What?" I did the math in my head. "I am 33! WOW! I'm so young!"
I was so happy. It was the best birthday gift ever, being a year younger than I thought I was turning. That's my mom brain....
The Tuesday after MLK day, we were back to the daily grind. We got up Tuesday morning and I made breakfast and lunches. My 10 year old was having a full-on freak out that she couldn't find her brush. "Just check your competition bag," I suggested.
"Where is it?" she asked.
"In your room," I replied.
"No, it's not."
"I put it in there." I ALWAYS put her competition bag in her room when I unload the car.
I went to her room and sure enough, it wasn't there. I must not have unloaded it from the car. I DID get home at 1 in the morning that night and we did have a crazy weekend. "Ask your sister to borrow her brush."
After the morning shuffle, I ushered the kids out the door and I went out to the car to get my daughter's competition bag. It wasn't in my trunk. I went to the suitcases that I had yet to unpack in my bedroom. It wasn't there. Then, I started to panic. I tore apart everything and it was nowhere to be found.
It wasn't just any bag. It's contents included:
competition leotard: $150
warm up jacket: $100
athletic capris: $25
no-show socks: $7
Converse sneakers: $45
grips: $48
grip bag: $17
tiger paws: $50
wrist bands: $6
bun maker and hair accessories: $12
The bag itself was $65.
That's over $500 worth of stuff. MISSING. I don't have $500 to be pissing away. Also, it's not like I can just go on Amazon Prime and re-order every thing. A new leo would take weeks to come in. I was having a full on FREAK OUT. Where could this bag be? I thought back to where I last saw it. The Wendys in Tennessee.
I didn't know which Wendys it was. Just that it was off the Interstate between Knoxville and the North Carolina border. I got on Google and start calling all of the Wendys in that area. None of them had the bag. I was devastated. My panic was quickly turning to desperation. I got on my knees and I prayed.
God, I know you have a lot on your plate. I know people are starving and have cancer and all of that, but I'm going to need you to stop what you're doing and help me find this bag. Please HELP ME.
That's when I had divine intervention. I knew how I would find the bag. I logged onto my bank account and tried to find where they charged my debit card. It had the store number attached to the charge. I googled it and called the Wendys.
I explained my situation and the lady on the other line replied, "I have the bag right here in the office!"
I was so happy, I felt like I'd won the lottery.
"Listen, I live 5 hours away. Is it possible for you to ship it to me?" I asked.
There was a hesitation on the other line. "Well, how would that work? Who would pay for it and send it?"
I was not dealing with a full deck. "You know what? I'm coming right now to get it."
That's what I did. I slipped on my sneakers and walked out of my house and 9 am and just drove to this random Wendys in Tennessee. I called my husband en route and explained the situation. He agreed that it was what had to be done.
I made the best of it. I had recently put together a playlist of forgotten 90's songs, so I listened to that. I spent time alone with my thoughts (which can be frightening), I ate lunch in a gas station and read the news. It went by quick.
I pulled into the Wendys five hours later. I'm pretty sure I looked like a homeless person. I went to the counter and asked for the bag and they brought it out. I've never been so happy to see a book bag in my life. I opened it up and took an inventory. Everything was as she had left it. I looked up at the Wendy's lady. "Can I hug you?" She smiled, "Yes!" She was excited too. For some reason that I don't understand. I thanked them and drove straight home.
I pulled in my driveway at 8 pm. Eleven hours after I had left. I was greeted by my husband and both girls. My youngest looked so nervous, "I'm so sorry, mom." I think she thought that I was going to be mad at her.
It never even occurred to me to be upset at her about it. I was just so happy that the bag was found. My daughter did not leave the bag on purpose. It was a long day of competing, I was rushing her. It was a careless mistake, but it was just a mistake. Did it suck to have to drive to Tennessee and back in one day? Yeah. Was it inconvenient? Sure. But it wasn't the end of the world. Sometimes your kids are going to throw their toys in your toilet, or vomit in your hair, or leave an important item in a random Wendy's five hours away - you can expect life with children to be messy and inconvenient and unexpected. That's okay because it's also beautiful and amazing and short-lived. I feel blessed and grateful; even after 11 hours of driving.
"I saw that Jim Gaffigan has new stand-up on Netflix. Let's pop some popcorn and watch it together," I suggested. That's what we did. It was a good ending to an exhausting day.
We settled into the couch and my husband put his arm around me. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel like I'm in a constant state of motion and my butt hurts so bad," I groaned.
"I'm still not going to rub Bengay on it," he replied. I laughed out loud.
