“Hey, guys, it’s time to get in the car. We need to run some errands, and I really
need to stop by the market to pick up some ingredients for dinner tonight. Sweetie, can you grab the diaper bag while I
get my purse, my list, and this little guy?”
“Has anyone seen my keys? I thought they were on the kitchen counter.”
“No, Honey, I don’t know where your shoes
are. Where did you last see them?”
“Hurry up and use the bathroom before we leave;
we don’t want any accidents on the way.
I know you don’t need to go, but please try anyway.”
“No, we don’t have time to ‘just stop by’ the
mall to go shopping. Let’s just get our
errands done, so that we can get back home in time for the little ones’
naps. Please, just get in the car!”
The chaos that accompanies leaving the house
always makes me wonder if it’s worth it.
How badly do we really need milk?
Or diapers? I mentally review the
check-list. We need gas for the car. And then I need to return the books to the
library and cash a check at the bank. The
last stop will be the market, where hopefully I can find some inspiration for
meals for the next few days. I’m so thankful
to be out of the house, albeit ever so briefly, on this beautiful summer
day. My reverie is interrupted, when less
than two miles from home, on a beautiful winding tree-lined road, I hear
it. That unmistakable choking sound
coming from the car seat behind me. And
then I smell it. That unmistakable
stench of formula gone sour from sitting in a little tummy too long.
And all the other kids in the car smell it too. “Ew!
Gross! Quick, roll down the
windows! Mo-o-om, he’s car sick again!” Gee, thank you so much for that helpful
information. As if I didn’t already
know.
“Can you reach the wipes? In the diaper bag? Right there, on the floor? What do you mean we don’t have the diaper
bag? Really? I thought I asked you to grab the diaper bag!”
Obviously our errands will need to wait
for another time.
When we get back home, I’m not even sure where
to start. I need to give him a bath and
take out all the cornrows that I had just spent two hours putting in his hair
that very morning. I need to rinse out
his clothes and put them on the “sanitary” cycle in the washing machine. I need to disassemble the car seat and hose
it down. But first I need to get the
preschooler occupied with something else so that he doesn’t “help.”
And then the phone rings and I hear my
husband’s voice, his innocent voice on the other end of the line: “Hi, Honey, I’m on my way home. What are we having for dinner tonight?”
Ha! Does he seriously want me to answer
that question?
