So What Do You Do All Day?
Hmmm…tough question. Let me take a stab at it.
Shower, dress, down coffee. Dry my hair with a 2-year-old almost literally up my butt. Attempt make-up for 10 seconds.
Grab more coffee for the road. Drive to auto repair shop to drop off car. Drop hubs off at work. Continue on to drop off something at friend’s house while Boo sobs the whole way about how he wants to see daddy. Now.
Gulp more coffee and wished I had something stronger.
Return item to Home Depot, which Boo calls Depot Lowe’s (and which I secretly hope he says in front of a Home Depot employee) and where I clearly don’t belong, except that it’s roughly 8:40 a.m. and the only people in Home Depot are stay-at-home parents and contractors, often not distinguishable.
Off to the bank drive-thru, then on to the CVS drive-thru. Boo correctly notes that we are getting medicines. Unsure whether this knowledge is good. Think he knows too much.
In an attempt to do something “fun,” take Boo to a local diner for breakfast, mostly because I’ve forgotten to eat and I’m starving. First, swing by the house to pee. Lock Boo in the car while I run in and hope the neighbors aren’t watching.
On to the diner (where I will not pee.) Order coffee and yummy breakfast. A pancake the size of my face arrives for Boo. He has two bites before lunging at my toast, eating two pieces after all is said and done. Attempt to teach a toddler restaurant etiquette. Realize this is a loose interpretation. Fail.
Call Target to see if our photos are ready for pick-up early. Am forced to leave a message, but take my chances and head across the city for another errand conveniently located near Target.
Drop off clothing/toy/household stuff donation and once again am slightly creeped out by the seemingly nice guy who says, “Come on in,” as if we’re about to take tea together. Anxiously glance back at the car where Boo is again locked in (and in sight).
Call Target again and holy crap — my pics are ready. Head across the street to pick them up. Get Boo in the stroller and make our first stop in the bathroom when I realize his diaper hasn’t been changed in hours. He nearly has a panic attack on the changing “table” thingie. He asks to wash his hands. I don’t blame him.
Head over to the photo “studio” and wait. And wait. Pick up pictures I’m not too psyched about since during the photo shoot, Boo looked like he was literally about to be shot. Tears. Crawling onto my lap. The whole nine. Do several laps around the store to satisfy Boo’s need to see all things Target. Vacuum cleaners and Kitchenaid Mixers top the list.
Boo has meltdown that we won’t be doing “beeps” (checking out at the register), because (no way!) I haven’t actually purchased anything else. What the?!
Meltdown ensues as I strap him into the carseat. The Wanna see daddy-ing picks up again.
Finally make it home where I think Boo will be psyched to check the mail. (Obsessed with mailboxes. Some day I’ll post the video of his almost weekly trip to Lowe’s to open all mailboxes. Easily amused child.)
Boo has morphed into a beast and throws mail on ground, a sacrilegious act in his little world.
I somehow manage to grab him football-style before he runs into the road, pick up the mail with my free hand, and (miraculously) key into the house. Still unsure how I did that.
More crying. Screaming. Boo is overtired a good half an hour too early. He runs off to his room wailing because I have not given him whatever it is he wanted at that moment. A minute later, I head to his room and (1) realize his bedroom light has been on all morning, and (2) he is drinking leftover milk from a cup given to him at 6:30ish a.m. I all but tear the cup out of his hand.
Wailing. Screaming for milk. Grab a clean cup from the dishwasher and scrub and assemble those damn straws that are never ready when I want them. Warm up his milk. Crying throughout. Big, sad, pathetic tears.
Boo finally takes the milk after several refusals (?!). Drinks quietly (ahhhh), while I empty and stack the dishwasher, then head to his room to put away his toys and get his room ready for nap. Boo finishes milk and insists on random snacks all while refusing to actually go to the kitchen for them.
I put him into the crib crying, as neither storytime nor rocking is happening in this state. He continues to cry and scream about wanting yogurt and blueberries and daddy. Whatev, little man.
I go hide in the bedroom with my laptop to write so I don’t lose my mind, and I wonder what kind of cocktail is appropriate for 11:40 a.m.
So what do you do all day?