If you read last Thursday's post, then you know my life was a bit of a disaster that day and I was winning the award for Best Hot Mess in the Seattle Area. PS. does that award exist? It should. I will get right on that during the next nap.
Recap from Thursday, shall we? We shall:
1. I fell holding Sam and popped my toe nail and stabbed myself with a metal laundry basket in the fall. I'm still not wearing shoes. I hurt.
2. I got puked on.
3. Jack peed on things.
4. And (worst of all) I went out in public in an outfit that screams NEW MOM so loud it was deafening. My former self, in a pencil skirt and pointy heels, died last Thursday.
I blogged this all around lunch time, laughing about what a miserable day it'd been. and wondered what else could go wrong.
A lot actually, but just little things. And I mean REALLY LITTLE THINGS. But on a day like that, it's the little things that end up making you wonder about jumping off the 520 bridge, am I right?
And I mean really stupid things like the meat for dinner didn't defrost in time so I had to use the microwave to finish the job (which is death in my mind) and the curtains coated in Jack's love didn't get vacuumed before company came over (have we talked lately about how I'm taking this stay-at-home thing a little too seriously?). Yikes, I know. I wasn't at all going over board or down any sort of rabbit hole... These are real life, first world, "I stay at home" problems.
Oh and then, gotta love me, icing on the cake, I walked away from Sam in his Johnny Jump-Up and when the screaming started, I raced to find him dangling upside down in a handstand position. He.Loved.It.
Bloody murder. Turd in punch bowl. These are things that come to mind.
That was the moment I called it. I was doing a great job at life and was obviously up for Mother of the Year. It was one of those comically bad days where breaking your toes sounds about right.
So my friend Jessica texted me with a picture of my prize for my day.
She made me a button.
Which I totally deserved.
Then she forgot to bring said button over when she came for dinner that night and I didn't get my major award until yesterday.
And that is why I have brought you here today.
Didn't that take a million years to get to? I know. I'm sorry. Sometimes a good nap time just makes me want to write and take an ungodly amount of time to tell a story that could have been summed up in about five lines, like this:
Jessica made me a button because Thursday was crappy.
I wore said button on our Costco Adventure yesterday because it was a gift and I earned that bad boy. Sometime between picking out her Christmas wrapping paper and sampling pumpkin bread, we lost track of time (and seasons apparently) and the boys had been awake 2 1/2 hours which basically means they were like undead zombie creatures, which is like most people by the end of a Costco trip.
I popped Sam out the the front pack to snuggle him/keep him off the ledge/buy us some time to get through the line and most importantly to the hot dogs, which we now know to start the trip with, not end with.
Then I screamed because his mouth was purple and HOW THE HECK DID THAT HAPPEN?
Oh wait. I'm wearing my button. I think the five month old was burying his face in the button. Oh, I am #1 Mom through and through.
The look on his face is either from the extreme exhaustion OR the washable marker that certainly isn't organic or all natural seeping into his veins. I'll have to check but I'm reasonably sure non-toxic markers is not on the list of foods that he's supposed to try between 4-6 months. I could be wrong.
The irony is literally oozing from my dripping wet #1 Mom button.
This is me as a parent.
I think we all expected this.