Being a Mom is Work

Yeah... like having a full-time job for each child you have. You can't get anything done. Even the most tame of activities somehow goes awry.

I needed to return a book today. Not a hard job, mind you, but one I dread. As a mom, I hate piddly little errands. The ones where you're in and out of the store. Know those? Yeah, if you're a mom, you hate them too.

I had a whole string of them today. Yuck. Go to the bank. Drive through the car wash. Drop a check off at the church. Mail some bills. Return a book.

These are only hard tasks if you have two toddlers with you. I had to drop the bills in the mail because yesterday my mail didn't come until after 6:00 PM (usually it at least comes before 5) because apparently they were taking the afternoon off for a belated celebration of the Ides of August. On the Ides of August I didn't get my mail at all. But that wasn't their OFFICE party, I guess. You know how the postal system celebrates holidays...

I digress.

I walked into the bookstore with one toddler asleep on my shoulder and the other walking. She immediately walked over and started rearranging books on the shelf. I informed her that she had exactly three seconds to get near my side... or else... because we're not rearranging books unless someone is going to pay us to do it. She chose not to listen. Oh great. I called to her again, which woke up the toddler who until then had been deep asleep on my shoulder for all of 3 minutes. The man at the counter asks me if I have a return, so I go over to him, and he tells me that if I just want to return it and not exchange it that I need to go see the other lady, who has a line of 2 people waiting. So what is that guy's job then?

I finally just have to go collect my daughter from the bookshelf. I finally get waited on, and my precious darling sweetheart baby boy decides to use that moment and scream like a banshee. He then proceeds to throw a Class A temper tantrum, something reminiscent of the Exorcist. I smile apologetically at the woman, who is waiting for me to dig my credit card out of my purse while trying not to drop the writhing child, who inbetween the gutteral sounds and banshee cries is screaming "Down! Down!" Meanwhile my daughter has started rearranging books again.

I make some sort of sarcastic comment about why I usually save these errands until Daddy takes the kids, because it saves so much hair. She doesn't even laugh. I bet she doesn't have kids. Anyone with kids would've found the situation comical. I didn't want to waste my time trying to explain it to her.

Now my son is angelically sleeping, but my daughter has come in four times in the three mintues I've been posting this in order to tell me that she wants something to eat and drink, even though we just finished lunch. Time to get back to the grind, I guess.



Latest Izzy-isms:
"Boys have short hair. Girls don't have short hair. But I have short hair and grandma has short hair and that's okay. Girls have earrings and diamonds and makeup like me."

"Mommy, that lady has a cute baby. Can we have her?"

"Are your eyes tired?"

"Daddy, I want a baby brother again, but I want a girl one."