One of Those Days

Do you ever have one of those days when things start to go haywire from the get go and just continue to get "better" as the day goes on until you wonder what could possibly go wrong next?

Well, lest you think that things are always sunshine and daisies here in Smockityville, let me just fill you in on my day.

We started off with the usual ordeal of getting three littles buckled into Hogzilla so we could go pick up the three oldest ones from being at work with Daddy. I won't even go into the 20 minutes it took us to pull out of the driveway, because it was all pretty routine stuff around here. "I forgot my shoes." "I smell a poopy diaper." "I can't find my shoes." "My seat belt is too tight." etc.

Just enough to make me practice my deep breathing as I finally backed out.

Then there were the issues we had with chore time, which I will keep private here in order to protect the guilty...and, you know, my reputation. Let's just say everyone was sent to their rooms to think about how to work together joyfully.

My sweet husband had given me a chance to run to Sears to get a brand new vacuum. So, naturally, I thought things were looking up. When I came in contact with a saleswoman, I told her that I wanted a self propelled vacuum, because I had used my mother-in-law's self propelled vacuum, and I just couldn't get over how much easier a self propelled vacuum is to handle.

She showed me the only self propelled vacuum in the store. I checked out the reviews on-line and payed for my vacuum. (Incidentally, the 50 something saleswoman handed me my receipt without saying a word. It left me with that voice in my head with those oft repeated words I've said to my kids, "Aaaand now you saaaaaay..." No "thank you" from her, though. She turned silently and walked away, so I offered a weak, "Thank you," to the back of her head. "Oh well," I thought, "at least I am going home happy with my new self propelled vacuum."

Until I pushed it forward. Did I mention how I had asked for a self propelled vacuum? I immediately knew that this vacuum was SmockityPropelled, so I looked over the paper work ,and sure enough, there was not a word about it being self propelled.

So, I made tracks right back to the store to explain that I had made clear that I wanted a self propelled vacuum and this one was definitely not. She glibly explained that she thought it was self propelled. There I go hearing that voice again, "Aaaaand you saaaaay..." There was no apology or further explanation offered, though. She did ask me why I wanted a self propelled vacuum, though. "Because, woman, I am a pregnant woman in my forties with 6 children, and I am TIRED. DO YOU HEAR ME? TIRED!!" Okay, I didn't really say that out loud, but I did think it. On the way home. You know, as I was replaying the conversation with the added in commentary that I always think of later. I'll spare you the rest of the details, because the most exciting part of my day is YET TO COME! I do have a vacuum, though, so you can all rest easy about the state of my carpet.

Since the children had figured out a way to get their work done in a joyful manner, I decided that we should all go to the pool. Maybe we could all enjoy the sunshine and relax a little. Right?

So, after about 8 leisurely minutes of glorious relaxation, I found myself diving into the deep end FULLY CLOTHED (Since I make it a policy to never appear nearly naked in public, I am always fully clothed.) to rescue my non-swimming, sputtering, flailing 5 year old.

I'll bet you're wondering why one of the PAID(!)"life" "guards" didn't rescue her. (Yes, I am aware of the proper use of quotation marks. I just figure that if you are more attentive to adjusting your belly button ring than you are to actually guarding lives, then "life" "guard" is more of a figure of speech for you than a job description. Thus, the quotation marks.)

In any case, I was the one who saved her and then came the best part of my day (so far.) I got to parade past lots of nearly naked, tanned, manicured, pedicured people with my dripping wet summer weight, khaki maternity pants clinging to my back side and my pale green, linen maternity top clinging to my front side. I thought I heard some whispers of "Again! That makes 7!!" but I'm sure that was just my imagination.

Oh, the good times!

At this point, I am just hoping to get a screaming one year old and the rest of the group to the parking lot without any more attention-drawing episodes. That's when I noticed a smell that clued me in on the fact that apparently sometime during The Rescue, One Year Old had done a dirty deed in her swim diaper, which it turns out didn't keep as much...um....matter inside the actual diaper as you might think would be expected of a DIAPER!

(Practicing deep breathing again.)

The best I figure I can hope for this late in the day is that nothing will burst into flames during the preparation of dinner.

I'm not holding my breath though.