Monday, March 11, 2013

Here's What Was Supposed To Happen



Saturday morning I woke up at six. It might have well have been Christmas.  I packed the diaper bag, and because I was feeling wild, I packed an extra Nutrigrain bar and two squeezable applesauce pouches, because nothing says, "Mom's cannonballing into a pool filled with awesome and glitter" like letting your kids eat portable breakfast snacks for lunch....while you're at the zoo.  Yep. Deal with it. The monkey effing zoo.  Boom goes the dynamite.

I had it all planned out.  With my better half in Texas for SXSW for the weekend, this was my time to outshine my husband.  Okay, that sounds competitive.  And it is.  With "Good Cop" out of town, "Bad Cop" was primed and ready to blow the top off our weekend and cement my place as the fun-time parent.  This was going to be epic, The Hangover of all mommy weekends (or at least the G-version of The Hangover, which meant we were going to eat popcorn in the family room.)

And to all but guarantee that the duckling was saying "Daddy who?" come Monday, I conspired with Jess, Weeb's mom (who is the duckling's very best friend since birth and who he only gets to see once every month or two) to meet us at the zoo.  I packed extra wipes in case the duckling's head exploded.

We were ready to leave, and not just ready, but ready early.  Why so early? Because before all the laughing and hugging and "Mommy, you're an angel on earth"-ing at the zoo, I was going to make a pit stop at the fabric store so that I could whip up a new headboard while the kids napped.  I thought it would be nice to surprise my husband upon his return Monday night as a consolation prize for his inevitable second place position in the never-ending race to be the favorite parent.

I went to heat up the car.  I put on my boots, grabbed the keys.....the keys.

Wherearemymonkeyeffingkeys?

They're in Texas.

With my husband.

Well, his car keys are in Texas.  It's not exactly his fault, as much as I really want it to be.  I have car keys, too.  However, I think they are in the car.  Last I remember I tucked them in the glove box as we all headed into the grocery store two weeks ago thinking "This is brilliant. Now no one will steal our car". True.  Nor will anyone drive our car. At least not until Monday.

My caviar dreams and champagne wishes became canned beans and store brand cereal until our groceries were delivered Sunday night (see you later, $20 delivery fee.  You would've made a nice mani-pedi).

What's this mean for you? Not much, save for the fact that there's no dramatic bedroom makeover to reveal, no pictures of my children petting penguins, no diy tutorial on making a headboard or even a recipe for Mama Duck's famous chocolate drizzled popcorn clusters (this doesn't exist but I'm sure I would have by the end of the weekend).

Instead the duckling ate snow off the porch and I had leftover kung pao chicken three nights in a row.   We gave the baby zerberts and played a rousing game of "Crossing Guard", which basically involved the duckling bossing me around while I made an ass of myself.  He thought it was cool.  Really cool. And I didn't even have to vacuum popcorn kernels out of the rug.



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