Well I'm really looking forward to the day when my life isn't such a roller coaster of emotions. Of late I've had some pretty great days and one incredibly bad horrible no good awful day.
Friday, September 27th (henceforth forever known as Day From Hell).
It all started a few weeks earlier when I told my mother that we wouldn't be coming up to Kansas for my counsin's wedding.
My mom cried.
I felt bad. So I started thinking of a way that I could make the trek to Kansas. I came up with the plan that I would leave around 3am or so and drive for about 6 hours before the boys woke up (they wake up around 8:30 or 9 so naturally they would just sleep in the car until when they usually wake up - Clue #1 that I'm an idiot).
As the day for departure neared, Doug and I realized there was no way he would be able to accompany me and the boys due to the amount of school work and projects he had going on. So I decided I would travel just the three of us. No problem! (clue #2 that I'm an idiot).
The night before we were set to leave I was scrambling around the house trying to get all the last minute details figured out like,
1. Where does my mom live?
2. How do I get to Kansas?
3. What should I pack for the boys?
4. How much money do we have left in our account at the end of the month?
5. Can I afford gas there and back?
So when 12:30am rolled around and I was still not in bed, I knew 3am was going to get ugly.
3am Doug and I got up and got the car ready to go and in the pitch black got the boys changed and in their car seats and in the car without hardly a peep from anyone. I rolled out of the driveway at about 3:15. After 45 min of driving I knew my plan was brilliant and that I should be given the Trophy of Momhood, complete with gold stars and chocolate.
Then at around 4am something happened. I think there was a switch inside Whitman's head that clicked on and he realized he needed to cry as loud and as hard as he possibly could so I can barely keep my bleary eyes on the road or remember what on earth I was doing. The "go - ape-shit!" switch went off.
I thought surely we will go back to sleep (clue #4) but noooooo my kids are dutiful and Whitman pledged his soul to the ape-shit switch at some point in his short little life so he kept on belting his majestic voice until Charlie too felt the call of duty.
I pulled over and gave them both pacifiers. They sucked on them just long enough for me to be convinced that all was fine and I could continue driving. As I pulled back on to the mostly deserted highway they chucked those measly green plastic good-for-nothins across the car and let loose.
After nearly 2 hours of them screaming and it nearing 5 something in the morning I looked down at my speedometer to see that I was going over 90 miles an hour so I could get the hell to Kansas, just in time to see the lights switch on above the black patrol car that was hiding in the median with no lights on. Surprisingly, my boys were not impressed with the siren or the blaring lights and wanted to let the world know as I tried to hear the commands of the police officer who was shining a very bright flashlight in my face and my babies' faces. As it turns out, Texas patrolmen are EXACTLY as they are portrayed in the movies.
30 min later, and despite the policeman "feeling sorry for me," I was on my way with a lovely little $300 speeding ticket and two babies WHO WERE STILL CRYING.
I got to Dallas/Ft. Worth and pulled off into a gas station and began to bawl. I decided there was no way in hell I was going to drive with deliriously tired screaming babies and that no family or cousin's wedding or even my own wedding would have been worth it at that point. So at about 6am I called my mom and told her we weren't coming, which of course made her cry. Awesome. I called my brother and told him we weren't coming, which of course didn't make him cry, because that'd be weird, but made me cry at the thought that they wouldn't be able to meet their uncle for even longer now. I called my husband and cried and told him the whole saga, and at 6am he seemed to only be able to grasp the $300 ticket (me to Doug: Can you FORGET about the damn ticket for one second?) Then I called my cousin, who I am only sorta close with (as in we are family but not HEY its 6am and I'm randomly in your city and remembered you live here and I'd like to take my screaming babies over to your house and crash for a bit before I turn around...not that close). But I called my cousin and miraculously, she answered.
Sometime around 7am I showed up at my cousins house with my boys who had resorted to quiet whimpering because their voices were all but gone. As I picked them up to bring them in her house, I realized they had had major poop explosions (no sense of smell, remember?) in their carseats and they were di-i-sgusting. But only having two arms I just picked them up anyway and carried them, poop now up my arm - and all, into her house. I promptly changed them (Hi cousin!) and then they played around for a bit while I attempted to set up the pack-n-play for 25 min.
It was sometime around then that my cousins neighbor backed into my car.
Running on about 2 hours of sleep, my NEW car being hit didn't really seem to phase me. Somehow, it seemed to make sense. I started hallucinating about the stairs caving in and my legs being made of bloody sponges. Yeah. I don't know. I was deliriously tired and freaked out from the 3 hours of screaming that were still resonating in my head. I got the guy's info and then took a short nap, reaffirming to my cousin that we would not be crashing at her house long. The boys would just take a short nap and then we'd be on our way.
4 hours later.
Yeah, the boys took a 4 hour nap so I was at her house for a very long time. I felt terrible. Not to mention that I now made things very awkward for her and her neighbor. Ugh. Sometime around 2 or 3pm I finally was able to leave her house. The boys were perfectly well behaved and were thrilled with the new brain-frying dvd device that I had bought especially for this trip so they would be good little boys in the car.
They were angels on the way home (though I did stop frequently this time). We made it back around 8pm - I still hadn't had anything to eat or drink that day so the moment we got inside, Doug gave us all big hugs, the boys wiggled until they could get down and stretch their legs, and I went to the kitchen to get something to drink. I saw that Charleston was pulling up on a box that was on the ground. I took a swig of water and looked back down at him just in time to see him face-plant into the tile floor. I ran over and scooped him up and he screamed into my chest. I imagined the Momhood Trophy of wonder and chocolates slipping slowly out of my fingers. I held him tight and rocked him until I finally pulled his head off my chest to look at him. He was bleeding profusely. My shirt was soaked. I had blood all over me, him, the floor, my legs. Everywhere. I almost passed out and yelled Doug's name seconds before I almost dropped Charlie. Doug grabbed him and immediately got the bleeding under control and managed to soothe him and eventually make him laugh. We still aren't sure the extent of the damage. It was the end to a very very bad day.
As I was driving back from Dallas to Austin I tried to come up with a few bumper stickers for the lesson I learned that day.
Don't have twins.
Wait. No that wasn't it.
Don't babies and drive.
or if you'd rather,
MADB (Mothers Against Driving with Babies).
Five For Fifty | Week 3
2 days ago