Let me start off by saying that it takes a lot to embarrass me. I mean a real lot. Well, at least it used to. Then I had kids and now all I feel is just varying degrees of humiliation. Today had to seriously top the scale. At least so far. (Who knows what kind of joys are in my future tomorrow!) It started off pretty normal. Scrambling to get out of the house. Trying to find socks, put on shoes, brush hair, take a 30 second shower because by precious children are screaming bloody murder from the other side of the glass and I'm pretty sure everyone in my neighborhood can hear them from my bathroom. Good times.
Anyway, I get everyone washed and presentable and I'm trying to dress my beauties. The boy, not a problem. Shorts and T-shirt, socks and shoes. Simple. My daughter... not so much. I get her clothes picked out. No problems there. Plaid shorts with pink shirt with ballet slippers on them. Too cute! But I'm missing something. Underwear. I know she has a bahjillion pairs of underwear, (why are they called pairs? They're just one) so were the hell are they?
Side note: I'm kinda on a time frame with my kids as I'm sure you understand. I only have about 20 minutes from the time I get them up till the time I get them downstairs and eating or they seriously go from being Gizmo to Gremlin in about 5 seconds flat. Then I only have about 30 minutes from the time they begin eating till the time I get them out the door or they decide they are going to make my departure from the house the most excruciating event ever. Basically Gizmo to Gremlin. Then I have about 20 minutes to get where I need to go or they need to be feed again. Otherwise... You got it Gizmo to Gremlin. Are you catching my urgency to get out of the house in a timely manner?
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| From This |
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| To This |
So I've already wasted about 15 minutes on their bath and getting the boy dressed and now I'm staring at my daughter half dressed praying that I have clean laundry in the dryer. That has got to be it. Where does 1 bahjillion pairs of underwear get to anyway? So I rush everyone down stairs, get breakfast going and everyone is eating before you can say apocalypse. As their eating I am scrambling to get my life line, I mean diaper bag packed and ready to go. Diapers? Check. Wipes? Check. Waters? Check. Snakes? Check. Varying amounts of entertainment? Check. Where am I going you ask? Disney world? Alaska? The Himalayas? Nope, just the gym.* Which is literally 3 minutes from my house. I could walk there. But I'm not going to.
Now there is still that pesky issue of underwear and I'm running out of time. Dryer. No. Underwear! Relax, so what if you have not a single pair of clean underwear to dress your child in, does that make you a bad mom? Only if someone else finds out! So I take the risk and let my little precious princess free ball it this one time. (ok, maybe it was the second time) No one will know our dirty little secret unless she pees her pants, which of course, isn't going to happen...
So wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles. I make it out the door with only one minor melt down and I'm thinking this is going to work. We make it to the gym, drop the kids off and by the power of God both my kids are happy and quiet and they don't have to come get me to let me know that my child is screaming like a banshee and I'm a terrible parent for leaving him. So I actually get a good work out in and I'm feeling pretty good and about an hour later I figure it's about time to get those kids and get them lunch or something that involves parenting.
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| If I Were A Rich Man |
Well, I walk into the kid care and thank the Lord my kids are the only ones in there. The boy is passed out cold while my princess is sporting new shorts. Those are cute. What a minute...
The ladies inform me that my princess was too excited to let them know when she had to use the little girls room. So not only did she pee all over herself but they had to change her clothes... and in order to change her clothes they would unwittingly have to unveil my dirty secret!
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| This Doesn't Even Begin To Describe It |
OH MY LORD. Humiliation at it's finest. A couple of things went through my mind. 1. Do I even mention she's not wearing underwear or do I just leave it up to them to fill in the blanks? Maybe they'll think she dressed herself. 2. The warnings of my mother telling me to never leave the house without clean underwear in case I get into a terrible accident and the EMT's have to cut off my clothes and find I'm not wearing clean undies. What are the chances?
I'm pretty sure those where my last thoughts before racing out the door. What are the chances? Apparently, pretty good. So make sure the next time you leave the house, you're wearing clean underwear. Well... at least your kids are.
Antenella
*I just want to clarify that the gym can be a God send and my worse fear at the same time. The boy decides sometimes that he loves it then other times he hates it. So I spend most of my workout looking over my shoulder like a cracked out drug fiend looking for the cops because I keep waiting for the ladies who work child care to come looking for me and remind me what a horrible person I am to leave my screaming child in their care for 20 minutes at a time. As I've mentioned before, the boy is a crier. Shout out to all my moms dealing with criers!! I hear ya.
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