Humbling.

Yesterday was a tough one at our house. A sick child, an unexpected day at home during a very busy work week, and a hectic morning spent visiting urgent care, picking up my laptop from the office, and waiting for multiple prescriptions at Target.

I was tired and crabby. Calvin was tired and crabby and sick. We were quite the pair.

By the time we made our way from urgent care across town to my office and then back home to Target, Calvin was teetering on the edge. While we waited for his prescriptions, I tried to keep him entertained with my phone, my keys, his toy cars, his bear, a snack — I employed every tactic in my arsenal. But all he wanted to do was stand up in the cart, stand on the stool we were purchasing in the back of the cart, throw my keys, chew on the tube of toothpaste, and — once we picked up his prescriptions — try to open his eye drops. Which were not childproofed. Which I knew he would most likely empty onto the ground. Which cost me FIFTY DOLLARS.

I said no, and that led to the tantrum of the century. Shoes went flying, items from our cart went flying, he banged his head on the cart until his forehead was scraped and bleeding, and then he tried to climb out. All while screaming bloody murder and hitting me in the face.

I wanted to die. Right there, in the middle of Target. Just take me, Lord.

Instead, I picked him up football-style and carried him to the checkout under my arm. One kind man helped gather all the items Calvin had thrown as I struggled to hold onto Calvin and unload our cart. Another mother came up behind me in line, smiled sympathetically, and said "I have one of those at home." But the cashier stared at me unforgivingly, and other shoppers gave me The Look — the one that clearly says "Control your monster of a kid, lady. I shouldn't have to listen to that." I tried as hard as I could to hold my head up high as I checked out and carried my still-hysterical child out of Target, shoeless and screaming.

Poor baby. I knew he was tired. I knew he didn't feel well. I knew I was pushing my luck. But I also knew I had to get him to the doctor, I had to pick up work, and I had to get his prescription filled because otherwise we'd both have to stay home again today — putting me even further behind. I didn't have a choice.

After forcing my inconsolable child into his car seat, I shut the door and ran back to the cart return. The same man who had picked up our strewn-about items in the store was parked two cars over. I gave him a tired smile and a half wave, and he said "My son did that all the time when he was a toddler. He's 16 now, and he's a good kid. It's going to be okay."

I nearly started crying. The exact words I needed to hear at the exact time I needed to hear them. Heaven sent, delivered by a kind stranger.

Later in the day I relayed the morning's events to Nate, explaining how embarrassed I was and how terribly some of the other shoppers had looked at me. He asked, "Who does that? Who looks at someone going through that and judges them?"

And I said, "Me. Before I had kids."

Parenthood is nothing if not a constant lesson in humility.

A relaxing weekend.

In my mind, I woke up this morning at a reasonable hour to a clean house and child who's eyes weren't crusted shut. I didn't find three inches of snow in my yard and I didn't have to cancel brunch with my brother due to Calvin's increasingly red eye. I didn't have to bundle up my son and drag him out into the cold and snow (which I didn't have to spend 15 minutes scraping off my car) or drive 45 minutes across town in treacherous conditions to urgent care. I didn't have to hold my son down so the doctor could examine him and diagnose him with pink eye, and I didn't have to drive another 45 minutes back across town in treacherous conditions to get his prescription filled at the Target near our house. I didn't spend 20 minutes wandering around Target trying to console/entertain/constrain a hungry, cranky little boy who was getting dangerously close to naptime, nor did I find out upon my return to the pharmacy that they didn't actually have the medication I was waiting for. I didn't have to wait even longer while they called other pharmacies in the area to see if they had it, only to determine the closest place was a Walgreens in the opposite direction of my house. I didn't have to drive my overly-tired-darned-near-starving kid to yet another place in treacherous conditions to drop off the prescription, and I didn't have to sit in the parking lot and feed him a random assortment of groceries purchased at Target for lunch while we waited for it to be done. I didn't hear from the Walgreens pharmacist that the Target pharmacist had miscalculated the dose and they'd probably had enough back at Target after all. And I certainly didn't come home to even more snow needing to be shoveled or the task of putting eye drops in an ridiculously exhausted and very crabby boy.

In my mind.

Banshee.

I don't actually know what a screaming banshee is, but if I had to guess what it looks like, I'd guess this:


















Which is why I now own these:





























Anyone have a pair of earplugs I can borrow? I've got some reading
to do.

Yes.

Because I can only say no so many times in one day.



I'd like to point out that the dog bowl was completely full when he started, and that I had already cleaned up the other full bowl of water he stepped in, dumped all over the floor, and crawled through.

And, yes, that is duct tape on my custom maple cabinets. Baby proofing at its finest.

I sure would love it if...

...I had all of my couch cushions on the couch instead of in the washing machine at some point this week.

On Tuesday Calvin had a blowout that left three couch cushions, a throw pillow, my shorts, his outfit and his changing pad covered in poop. I washed everything.

On Wednesday, my seemingly incontinent dog leaked pee on the couch while she slept. (As of Wednesday, she is on medication for this problem.) I washed the couch cushions.

Today, as my dog was barking manically at something outside and I was trying to shut her up while breastfeeding Calvin on the couch, my child had yet another blowout that got my arm, his outfit, the blanket I covered the couch with to prevent further cushion washing, and two couch cushions, which were left uncovered by the blanket in my mad attempt to grab my barking dog before she woke up my sleeping husband, who had just come off a night shift at the hospital.

Two more couch cushions and the blanket are washing now. The dog is outside barking at whatever it was that caught her attention. Calvin is cleaned up, redressed and fed. Nate is sleeping soundly.

But I still have traces of poop on my arm.

Poo.

The day started out with cuddling between father and son. And it ended with a change of clothing — for both of them.

I haven't laughed that hard in...well, maybe ever.