Every now and then I have one of THOSE days (or weekends). You may know what I mean, the kind where nothing seems to go right and you screw up absolutely everything you set out to do? I’m not talking about work here, I’m reasonably good at my job and don’t mess up very often, or in large ways there. I mean messing up just normal life stuff.
Last weekend was one of those.
Nothing awful happened, just a series of idiotic maneuvers on my part that led to me shaking my head in disbelief. Here’s a few examples:
Saturday morning I woke up at 6:45am in a panic that we were late for Thing #1′s 6:00am hockey practice. In reality that wasn’t a problem as the practice had taken place on Friday morning (and we went to it) and it was now Saturday morning. Saturday’s game wasn’t until 8:45, so I had plenty of time. I play hockey on Friday nights, so I was pretty tired and fell back to sleep. I woke up again at 7:45, got showered and dressed then turned on the tap to brush my teeth too quickly sending a jet of water deflecting off of the plug and straight into my crotch. Wearing my second pair of jeans in 10 minutes, I then got everyone ready to go. Kind of.
We have a baby bag that we haul all of Thing #2′s accessories around in, at least that’s the plan. Typically I don’t think to check it (despite the fact that this is my second child and that after 2.5 years with this one I should know better) so I usually show up to places with no changes of clothes, extra socks, wipes, food, or sometimes diapers. I don’t even know why I bring it, I’m just disappointed and angry with myself every time I realize that simply checking it before I left would have saved me a bunch of trouble. At least if I didn’t bring it at all there’d be no false hope of being prepared.
An interesting sidenote: there is no way to make carrying a baby bag look manly. None. This one is dark grey and still looks like a purse, which every single person I see comments on. I thought it was fine when my wife bought this one to replace the robin’s egg blue flowery one that I refused to carry (I was using plastic shopping bags and looked homeless) but people still tease me mercilessly. It’s a good thing I ignore people as a general policy. Cats I listen closely to.
Anyway, we showed up to hockey with Thing #2′s shirt absolutely drenched in milk from the ride to hockey that she somehow managed to spill all over her. The cup has a sealed lid with tiny holes in it. It was baffling how she could get that much on her until I saw her take a gulp then let it flow out of her mouth and on to her chest, apparently to amuse herself.
I got Thing #1 ready for practice then went to change Thing #2 into a dry shirt. Nope, no shirt. I towelled her off the best I could with those sandpaper-like brown public bathroom paper towels then tried to dry her under the hot air hand dryer, but that scared her too badly so I gave up and told her she was wet due to her own mischievousness and would have to live with it. She said “All gone moti Dad?” (milk) 17 times.
We almost made it through the game when I noticed her diaper was approaching a critical level of pee saturation and went to change her. No diapers. What kind of idiot goes out with no diapers you ask? Me. Time after time. Now her pants are wet because when you pick up a girl with an overloaded diaper you’re asking for trouble. No pants. Now her shirt and pants are wet, my shirt has pee on it and we still have 15 minutes left. I tried to feed her to keep her from running around too much as I didn’t want to have her dripping everywhere and the only item I had in the bag was a light purple toque that would not work to keep any fluids contained. No food. Screw it, I thought, and bought some pretzels.
I put a towel I found in the car on the car seat to keep it safe on the way home and we left. That was not fun. I don’t think I saw more than 37 seconds of Thing #1′s game.
Later on Saturday I was taking the Things out for a play afternoon at a friend’s house (who very kindly served me wine on ice. It was delicious and I needed it.) I got them ready, got everyone into the car, got my seatbelt on and then Thing #1 said “Hey Dad, Thing #2 only has one shoe.”
This isn’t uncommon for her. She hates shoes and socks and thus will usually take them off and fling them all over the car during even the short ride to the hockey rink. Having not even left the driveway was a new record for her which luckily tweaked something in my brain so I stopped and looked for her shoe.
Not in the car. Not on the ground outside the car. Back into the house I go. Not in the entryway. Not on the stairs. Oh wait, there it is, on her bed. I got her all ready to go and only put one shoe on. Nice work Dad. Mind you, she could have said something; she talks non stop the whole time she’s awake and sometimes when she’s asleep. She must have been lurching like a longshoreman after an extended “coffee” break with just the one shoe on, but I didn’t notice and she didn’t care.
This time she didn’t care anyway. The other night we went to the playground after dropping Thing #1 off at Brownies. Her shoe fell off while she was running so she picked it up and ran to me yelling “Shoe fall off Dad! Shoe fall off” continuously. I sat her down, put it back on “Shoe fall off Dad. Shoe fall off”. Stand her back up “Shoe fall off Dad. Shoe fall off” and she walks away quietly saying “Shoe fall off Dad! Shoe fall off”. She goes to play with the other little girl there “Shoe fall off Dad! Shoe fall off”. Oh the tragedies of Thing #2.
Saturday night I was really looking forward to watching the Canucks game. I listened to the pregame show on and off all day, then for a solid hour while I bathed Thing #2 and cleaned the kitchen. I timed everything perfectly to coincide with the start of the game; I got Thing #2 into bed, got Thing #1 set up with PJs, water and her Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, then went downstairs, completely forgot about the Canucks, turned on a CSI episode I had on the PVR and continued to miss the game. The whole game. I didn’t have an “Oh crap!” moment, no. I watched a second episode of CSI, then a Hoarders with my wife when she got home.
I went off to bed happy as can be, woke up Sunday morning in another panic thinking that we were late for Thing #1′s 8:45 hockey game that had once again occurred the day before. I wasn’t late for anything as we didn’t have to get to soccer until 9:30, so I took a look at my phone and found that someone on Facebook had posted about what a great game the Canucks played against LA. Only then did it come crashing down on me that I had missed my wonderfully planned game night.
The rest of the day went better and Thing #1 proved herself as my fitness hero when she played a 3 game soccer tournament then a 5:45 hockey game.
I went to sleep vowing to remember what day it would be when I woke up.