Alas. Life is not perfect. We’re still waiting for little SweetPea’s passport which means My Mister is back in the States all by himself, visiting our friends, enjoying a full night’s sleep (well, when he gets over the jetlag), in a bed all by himself and, most importantly, drinking free refills. All while completely squandering the prime wool buying opportunity I would have totally taken advantage of at MDSW.
As for me? I’m still Down Under all by my lonesome with a toddler and a newborn and, as of this posting, am still alive to tell the tale. And so are my kids. Woohoo! Go me!
I know he knows, but just so that I can declare it publically for the whole world to see, and just in case he’s even thinking about staying just a minute longer, I MISS MY MISTER! He is a phenomenal husband and daddy and I truly feel it in my bones when he’s gone because he helps with so much around the house and with taking care of the kids and me, especially in those early days postpartum. With him gone, I have to handle by myself all of the feedings and bath times, temper tantrums (our first real tantrum happened last week- terrible twos has come early!), and midnight diaper blowouts. I have to make all the big decisions by myself, as well. Decisions like, do I really need to change the baby’s diaper if it’s just a shart? (Answer: Depends on where it falls on the Shartyness Scale. Anything over “Enough to Butter a Bread” and you should probably change it.)
Well, after My Mister left on Friday, I decided that I was not going to just let the TV babysit my kids while I wept in the corner curled up in the fetal position. I mean, after spending Saturday and Sunday like that, of course. They don’t count since it’s the weekend and I remember reading in some parenting book that all parents get the weekend off and you can wait until the Shartyness Scale reaches, “Stop Deluding Yourself- It’s Poop” before you have to change the diaper.
So on Sunday, I made a plan for the week. I was going to attack the week like a Professional Mom would. Like my mom would.
Side note: I have two under two. So did my mom- I was 14 months younger than my older brother. I have no idea how my mom did the things she did and I often wonder how it can be that I am related to her. As I’m verbalizing how overwhelmed I’m feeling and voicing my insecurities and wondering to myself, “How did my mom do it??” My Mister asks me, “Well, your mom did a good job. How did she do it?”
Dude. It does not matter that I was thinking the same thing. If a husband does not want an epic, hormonal, postpartum meltdown that will be sung about by minstrels sitting around the fire as a way to instill fear and terror into their audience, he should never compare his wife to her mother. Besides. Having two under two is probably the reason my mom went crazy. (Haha! Kidding! Kinda…)
So my plan for the week started with ordering groceries for in-store pickup which I would retrieve Monday morning after dropping off the recyclables (Cash for Cans! Yay!) and picking up the cat food at the vet’s, followed by mailing a package to my cousin whose daughter is 10 days younger than SweetPea. This is actually really cool since I am 11 days older than my cousin. I’m not sure what the odds are of that happening but it must be a good omen that everything would go perfectly since the planets were aligned and I was sending her two cute crocheted dresses which means bonus points for the day.
ANYwho… I have to order the groceries by 11pm the previous night to pick up at 9am the next morning. Sunday night rolled around and I was still in the fetal position in the corner, so I did not order the groceries.
My plan was not off to a great start.
No worries. Monday morning rolls around and, if I order by 11am, I can pick them up by 3pm, so we would have actual food in our house and Little Mister wouldn’t have to go around picking up random blobs off the floor and scarfing them down like he hadn’t eaten in a week. (For reals- he kept saying, “MMMMMM! Good!” and refused to give me what was in his mouth. I really hope it was the popcorn we had the previous day and not cat litter or something worse- like a bug.)
I decided to treat Monday as if I was going to
No worries- I still had other errands to run and Lord knows there were still plenty of blobs on the floor for Little Mister to eat, so it’s all good. (See? This is why I don’t vacuum all that often. Now you know.)
On the way to the recycle center, My Mister skyped me. As we were talking, I told him that I remember seeing something about a parade later on that morning. This is when I realized that there must be something really special about today. Good thing I curled my eyelashes.
He told me, “Oh yeah- it’s a holiday today.”
I was thinking of all the important holidays where there could be a parade in May and didn’t think they celebrated Memorial Day but could it really be Memorial Day already? I mean, I know I have been in a hormonal daze lately, but could I really have misplaced an entire month? That would explain how SweetPea got so huge so quickly…. (For reals- both my babies went from newborn to Baby Huey in no time flat. I think my boobies have butter on tap instead of breast milk.)
Then My Mister said “Mayday!” I thought he was asking for help in some silly World War Two way in order to make me laugh, but no, he said it was the holiday May Day. (??)
Since we don’t celebrate that holiday in the States (do we?), I truly have no idea what it’s about but it dawned on me that it was probably the reason why I couldn’t pick up my groceries that day.
Then the wheels slowly turned in my head and the pieces started to fit together when I realized that, if it was a special enough holiday to have a parade, and special enough to prevent me from picking up my groceries, then it most likely meant that it was special enough for EVERYTHING to be closed.
Yep. The recycle center. The post office. Even the vet. All closed.
What the crap, Australia. I got out of my pajamas and was even wearing deodorant and you pull this lame-o trick on me??
Well, I thought that it wasn’t a total bust since I had the double stroller in the back of the car so we could at least go to the parade.
I had 4 bags of recyclables sitting on top of my stroller and the parade started in 15 minutes. Not enough time for me to go home, unload all the stupid recyclables and then head back out to the stupid parade on this stupid, made up holiday. And I didn’t even get my hard-earned $10, either.
So, I went home. Unloaded the kids. Plopped them in front of the TV, and went back to my corner to curl back up into the fetal position and wash my mascara off with my tears.
See? This is why I should never get out of my pajamas. Now you know.