Alexander had it easy. His day only lasted a day.Mine started Friday after I packed up all the things for the Twin Valley Mothers of Twins Consignment Sale and the girls into the minivan bound for Grandma's house. We were in a rush... I still needed to tag all the toys at Grandma's house that the girls have outgrown/ignored as well as feed them and have them ready for a nap by 12:30pm. Cruising at 65mph, I all the sudden heard a "POP!" As the minivan started to float a little, I heard a different sound like I was driving on the outside of the lane - the sound that's intended to wake up drivers who may be sleepy and wandered off the road a bit. "I bet I've got a flat," I think, merging right while neither using the brake or the accelerator. "Great!" I'm only a mile and a half to Grandma's, but with two kids - feisty ones at that - in the car with me, walking to the nearest exit - less than 1 mile - isn't an option in my book.
Thank goodness for cell phones! I call my husband first, who is unfortunately in a meeting for the next 3 hours and won't hear my pleas. I call Grandma next who is supposed to be at a class rather than her house. Cell phone's off. Already in class. Hummm... Insurance agent (Paul had me cancel AAA since the roadside assistance was cheaper through our car insurance) is next....apparently I'm not covered....Paul told them to cancel it since I had AAA. Miscommunication #1,452. Nearer to tears, they assure me they'll send someone out for an additional $50. A bargain. I'm told to wait an hour. I'm no woozy, but it's really scary being on the side of the road --- each time a big car or truck comes by, it shakes the whole car. I pray that they girls don't find it intimidating.
Time passes - thank goodness I packed a lunch for these two. They are relatively calm and finally, 15 minutes late, help arrives. I look in my rear-view mirror and know that doom is short-coming. It's not a tow-truck. It's a locksmith who does tire changes on the side. He tells me to open the middle trap door so he can get my spare out. I know it's not there - that's where we store extra toys and my Ergo carrier. After looking for 10 minutes, my help tells me that I have no spare and that he can't help me. I sense stupidity in his face and I scan the owner's manual to prove him wrong. However, they don't tell me where to find the spare, just that it's there and how to change it. The girls are starting to act up. Every time I leave the car, they panic and scream. We've been on the side of the freeway now for 2 hours. I'm pissed my "savior" is unqualified and I call my insurance hotline to tell them so. They will send out a proper tow truck, but it will take another hour. Unacceptable. A CHP car drives up behind me and quickly my locksmith guy is driving away. The CHP tell me 3 options: hitch a ride with them and abandon the car, they're call for a tow truck will come within 15-minutes (and will cost an arm and a leg), or they will follow me low-speed to the exit and ensure I'm safe. Screw the alloy rim -- it will cost as much as the tow truck anyways! I am flustered and an emotional mess for the rest of the night. Yuck! However, lessons learned: 1) the spare is in the back side-compartment, shaped like a wheel, on the drivers' side. Had my van not been full of stuff for the sale, I may have seen it in my rear-view mirror. 2) always check your insurance policy for coverage even though someone says they've already done it.
Saturday: Paul leaves to work saying he'll be home early so that we can go to this wedding. "Good," I answer. "I need to take a shower before we go." Girls wake up on the wrong side of the bed and I load the screaming pair into the car after breakfast to pick up Paul's pants from the tailor. The challenging part is that I have to get there using backroads as you're not supposed to travel more than 50 mph with a spare. I don't know these backroads of inner-Oakland, but actually navigate them relatively well even though there are some tough neighborhoods. I get there and they don't have Paul's pants. Could it be that he actually remembered to pick them up himself? Nah - look again, please. I realize I left my cell phone at home and go home empty handed after their second and third look. Now I realize I'm going to be late getting back for my very important date with the shower!! But, as I come home, I find Paul not there, but his pants in the closet. I wait 2-more hours with still-cranky kids who won't let me put them down without crying. I'm stuck on the sofa one on each knee. One-half hour before we need to leave, Paul comes in late for his own shower. I throw on a dress, fuming that I don't have the time to clean the kids' snot out of my hair or eat something myself.
Sunday: Bettina's been up since 11:30 last night. She can't sleep and won't let me either. Finally at 4:30am, she starts to drift off. Ava wakes up, I enter and see that she's covered in puke. I change her sheets and draw a bath and clean both kids when Tina wakes. I think I know why Ava got sick - I'm starting to feel it too and it explains why everyone was in such a foul mood yesterday. With all these distractions, there's no time for church. Neither is there food or milk in the fridge, so I put the kids in the car again and drudge out to the store. I have to start the laundry before we go otherwise Ava will have nothing to sleep on or with (both "moos" got hit with puke). They're both shrieking by the time we get back and I throw on the clean sheets and put the kids on top of them. "Night-night," I say, looking heaven-bound, praying they will sleep even though it's an hour before their regular nap time. It's quiet. I head for my own bed after putting in earplugs (just in case) and we all sleep for 3 hours. I just have to endure 4 more hours of "playtime" with a bad headache, a stomach that is about ready to hurl and a sore throat until I get to put the kids in bed again. I watch with contempt as my husband comes in to shower and then out again, after asking if I'm feeling OK and hearing "no", so he can watch the basketball playoffs in a box seat with free food and beer. Can you tell I'm still fuming?
Well, that's my rant. Mommy and her Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad weekend. Lord be praised that tomorrow is Monday and blessed Rocio will be here at 9am. All I'll have to worry about for 5-hours is myself and my work.
