I want my car!

My car was due for service so I arranged to have it serviced at my former place of employment. It would be a great way to see my former co-workers, show off my children in person and knock out the service. 

We arrived at the dealership, unloaded the children and dropped my keys off to the service advisor. I grabbed some donuts for Charlie and Ella and sat them at a high-top table. Our car was pulled around to the service bay next to our courtesy vehicle. 

Charlie and Ella finished their donuts and we went out to switch the car seats. Ella stood by the building with a perplexed look on her face. I was not sure what her mind was drumming up, but there was definitely confusion of some type. With the seats installed I began to load the kids. 

The car that we were would be borrowing was the exact same model with the exact same interior. The only difference was the exterior color. Charlie thought that it was cool to have a different car. As long as it had a panorama roof, he was good. Charlie hopped in and clicked his buckles. I placed Ella in her seat and she became upset. She asked where our car was. I tried to explain to her scattered three year old mind what was going on. It was not making sense to her. 

I spent a minute trying to allow her to get used to the "new" car, which I remind you, was the same as our car. Nothing was working. This car was white, our car is black. This car had a number on the windshield, our car does not. The difference was too much for a princess to handle. There was a total nuclear meltdown happening. See for yourself.

Official Parent Status!

It just hit me that I have reached official Parent status. The family loaded into the new "family car", the kids were half dressed in play clothes and flip-flops. The wife had thrown on some casual attire, hair pulled back in a headband, a dab of foundation and flip-flops. I was decked out in my paint splattered Mt Dew t-shirt, saw dust covered cargo shorts and I probably wreaked of sweat and wood. The big plan for the evening, puzzles and wine! 

We had a fun trip to the store. Ella destroyed the local Dollar Tree, as usual, and Charlie spent seven years trying to decide between glow sticks or a blow up tropical bird. None-the-less we were spending time together and emptying Daddy's pocket book. 

Our Dollar Tree stop was precluded by a quick trip to Walgreens. We were excited to grab a cheap bottle of wine to get turnt up on. Yep, turnt. Because we are cool like that. With a bottle of Mescato in hand, a toy Virgin Mary, glow sticks, two puzzles and some flarp, we headed home to our typical "family style home" in the suburbs. 

The kids played with their new treasures while Jamie poured us a glass of wine in a red Solo cup. Ella wanted some "Apple Juice" too. The thought quickly flashed through my mind that she would go to sleep earlier but, we refrained due to that whole legal thing about underage drinking and child abuse. 

 

After a few minutes of playing and winding down the children were tucked into bed and Puzzle time began. The wine was going down smooth. After a few sips I started thinking. "I have reached official Parent status." What in the world had happened? Two kids, a family vehicle, wine in a Solo cup and puzzle time! Help! 

This can not be happening. I am staying up all night to finish this puzzle and prove that I am still young! Being the light-weights that we are Jamie and I got turnt quick! By turnt I mean sleepy. With half of the puzzle finished and the wine all gone we surrendered to our worn out brains and bodies and headed to bed. It was late though. If 11:27 is late for old people.

I was Paralyzed!

If you have not heard, a friend and I have started a company called Sap & Suds. We make home decor, laundry detergent and bombs. Bath bombs, not "BOOM! destruction bombs", "Fizz, fizz, AH! that smells amazing and makes my skin feel great!" bombs. A portion of our decor is rustic signs. I was working on a sign and everything was going great. I was cleaning up some edges on a few planks when all of a sudden I felt a bear claw grab me by the side and squeeze and rip my rib cage. I could not breathe, I could not move and I was home alone with the children. Luckily I had already turned the table saw off or I would probably be missing a hand.

I thought to myself "This is it, I am going down. The lord is taking me home and my kids are in the backyard in their underwear and my daughter is covered in marker."

I considered my options:

1. Lay across the table saw and try to stretch it out. Bad Idea, The button is red, Ella likes red, Ella grabs the button, My gut would be split open and it would be instant death.
2. Lay on the floor and try to relax. Bad idea, nails everywhere, instant tetanus.
3. There really is no other option because I could not move.

The pain finally let up enough to allow me to take a breath and move to the back door. As I approached the door I was snagged again by the claws of death. Now my kids are going to see me in my last moment and be scarred for life. I have a passcode on my phone and I do not think that Charlie knows to call 911. Ella is going to draw on my face and probably put a princess crown on my head. I expected death and my last thoughts to be much different, but parenthood does strange things to your brain.

I remained on my feet and grabbed the nearest object that I could find to hang on to. I grunted through the pain and tried to take a deep breath to ensure oxygen continued to flow to my brain. I was finally able to call out to Charlie and Ella to come in. In typical Charlie fashion he asked "Why?"

"Seriously kid? I am dying here and just want to show you how to dial 911 if Daddy goes down. I also want to ensure that Ella does not make me look like a drag queen after I pass out." These were just the thoughts in my head. I did not say this out loud.

I was finally able to wrangle the children into the house while trying to put on a tough face so they did not become scared or worried. They could tell that something was wrong. Maybe it was the fact that I was contorted like The Hunch Back of Notre Dame or that I was talking like Carl from Sling Blade. The pain was excruciating!

"How was I going to function for the rest of the evening with two kids and Jamie gone for a few hours?"

Ella had been playing in the pool and instantly ripped her diaper off when coming through the door. She had sand and dirt everywhere. When I say everywhere, I mean in places that sand should not be. Charlie had sand around his eyes and both kids looked like I just picked them up from the "Neediest Kids of All". Ella had remnants of her "Valentines" face paint from the zoo streaking down her face like a warrior princess that just sacrificed a hog. Charlie's Nemo face paint now looked like Nemo grew an extremely long......"Fin".

I was practically paralyzed, my daughter looks like a hot mess and my son has an inappropriate face painting. "Please lord do not let me have to call anyone to come save me." I can only imagine what someone would think if they showed up to this circus. I text Jamie to let her know what was going down. I was trying to tough it out, but I may need you. She said, "Call your mom if you need someone." So much for sickness and health. Death is knocking on my door and I get a "Call your mom." She immediately sent another text that said " I did not mean that in a nasty way." I knew that and I knew that I had not relayed the severity of my situation.

I sat in my chair and as I passed the threshold of my upper extension limit the claw grabbed me again. I was done. I could not move to get back up, I could not turn my head and if I moved my arm the pain became worse. My children were going to starve to death because I was unable to get up and feed them. After about three hours of sitting idly I was able to get out of the chair and drag myself around like Quasimodo. The kids had found a few snacks in the pantry. I think that they took full advantage of my disability and smuggled some gummy worms, cookies and any other sugary treat that they could find. Oh well, they were learning survival skills and that is what parenting is about. Teaching your children to fend for themselves.

I managed to get the kids to pick up their toys, vacuum the floor, wipe down the counter and tables and bathe themselves. The lesson that I learned in all of this is that if your children think that you are cursed, then they will clean your house to try and change you back. Or, it could be that grunting orders through pain sounds really demonic and they are scared of you. Either way, it worked.

Jamie arrived home to find the kids in their beds, a semi-clean house and a husband stuck on the edge of his chair like The Thinker. She still did not understand the severity of the situation until I called off of work the next day. A true sign that I was not up to par. That "Call your mom" turned into a "Let me take care of you" and that is why I love her. She still picked on me and my Quasimodo posture, but she got me all fixed up.

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