I've been preparing for several weeks for having all three kids home all day for summer break.
I've been imagining family outings to the zoo, picnics on the lawn -- maybe even super fun overnight campouts in the backyard -- since April or so.
Our first day of summer break was Monday, and Mondays always start with Mommy and Me music class with my two younger kids. I figured I'd bring big brother along and then we'd all head out for a glee-filled morning at the playground and some lunch before naps.
I laid out this plan for the kids on Sunday night.
Immediately there were some objections.
From the two-year-old:
"I want the green egg to shake!!!! THE GREEN EGG!!!" (pointing angrily towards brother) "If he comes he'll take it!!!!"
I spent several minutes assuring him that I would protect his right to the green egg with my very life.
From the four-year-old:
"I will NOT NAP! Naps are for babies! I WILL PLAY QUIETLY!!"
Dude, fine, as long as you promise not to wake up the other kids. We'll sort it out tomorrow, OK?
From the 16-month-old:
"NO! NO! NO!" (No, at this point is basically her "Aloha" -- it means "Hello," "Goodbye," and "Nice to See You" -- so I ignored her)
By late evening we had arrived at "The Great Music Class Accord of 2013" and we were raring to go.
We got up the next morning, had breakfast, and my husband left for work (please take note of this detail as it shall come into play momentarily).
By the time I'd packed a bag of sand toys and sunscreen and gotten everyone dressed, it was time to head for the car -- the joys of Music Together awaited!
As I headed out to open the minivan a horrifying vision flashed before my eyes.
It was of the last time I'd seen my car keys.
I was making muffins with the boys the day before when I looked up to see the baby rifling through my bag before making off with my keyring.
My hands were covered in batter at the time, and I thought to myself,
"That could end badly -- I should probably put a stop to that."
Yeah, I didn't actually put a stop to it.
And so it was that half an hour before music class was to begin I found myself tearing around the house in a panicked search for where my baby might have hidden my keys.
This enterprise was interrupted by a knock on the door.
It was my neighbor reminding me that street cleaning was starting in five minutes.
The children, sensing my distress, sat quietly as I searched.
Right. Of course I'm lying.
The children, sensing my distress, decided it was a perfect time to begin shouting demands for juice at me and/or take the time to pummel their siblings about the face and head as part of an ongoing dispute about whether or not the red train was, in fact,
"MINE! MINE! MINE!"
As I watched the minutes tick by, I accepted that the only locatable key to the minivan was the one in my husband's possession. I then remembered that his parting words had been something along the lines of,
"I've got an important client meeting this morning...."
So I did the loving and reasonable thing and chose not to bother him at the office.
Right. Of course I'm lying.
I called his phone 8 times in a row (our secret marital code for, "Pick up! Someone is bleeding profusely!") and then proceeded to sob hysterically until he agreed to drop whatever "important job thing" he was doing and come home.
As I awaited his return I crafted an elaborate dissertation detailing the reasons I should not get a parking ticket JUST THIS ONCE because I had such a good excuse.
Unfortunately my carefully-prepared arguments were never to find an audience, since at the time the parking enforcement officer arrived I was busy responding to the following statement from my two-year-old:
"Um, I think the baby pooped on the floor."
I'm not even going to go into detail, but suffice it to say that he was, in fact, correct.
By the time my husband arrived home, music class was a long-forgotten dream and I was sitting rocking in the corner clutching a $75 dollar ticket in my hand and begging him to raise the children alone, thus allowing me to move to a small hut in Guam.
Summer break is off to a great start, folks!
Right. Of course I'm lying.
