Yesterday was a fine day. It all started normally enough, and then dinner time came around. Looking back, it’s easy to see that we got a little too confident. On his way home from work, my husband told me he’d finished a huge project and wanted to celebrate with some pizza, and the girls and I weren’t upset at this news.
We walked the 0.00001 miles to the place, sat down, and ordered two pizzas – a medium one for us (ham, pineapple, chicken, and jalapeno; not very kid-friendly) and a small one for them (sausage and olive, their favorite). Naturally, ours came out five to ten minutes before theirs, and while our 12-year-old(ish) waitress ran back and forth checking on our food and bringing us plastic utensils and paper plates (which REALLY didn’t fit the vibe of the place), we encouraged the girls to color their kids menus, then finally gave in and let them play with our phones.
Their pizza came, and we dished each up a slice before Q (being the octopus ninja she so often is) reached for the hot plate, which Daddy slid away, just to the tipping point, and spilled the rest of it (minus two pieces, thank goodness) face down, SPLAT, right there on the floor. Perfect. That’s when I should’ve known to just go home with what little pizza and self respect we had left and gone to bed. We didn’t. We kept eating.
Fortunately, the rest of dinner went off okay, even if Q was sitting in Bob Willey’s reserved corner (maybe he had the brilliant idea to have Scotch-and-smoking-lounge furniture with disposable kitchenware). Maybe that’s a cursed corner. Curse you, Bob Willey, and your corner!
Is bed time a time any parent looks forward to? (Of course I’m asking not about the part when the kids actually fall and stay asleep, but the long, drawn-out process of the bedtime routine.) I know I don’t, and I’m pretty sure our kids don’t. See here: I’m not alone in this.
Right now, our kids are kinda cramped in their shared living space. K is in the “big girl” (queen size) bed in the center of the room, while Q’s pack-n-play WAS right next to the door. The door that has a lock. With no key. Do you get where I’m going with this?
Last night, we put them to bed, and K (the night owl who may be coming down with the same junk that turned into pneumonia for me) fell fast asleep almost immediately, but Q (the early-to-bed early riser) cried for more than her allotted three minutes, so I went to check on her. She’d locked the door. And we don’t have interior keys. We pounded on the door, woke K, who freaked out and cried before she came over. Q was crying HARD. K was exhausted. Everyone was freaked out. I don’t want to go into details, but let’s just say that we got the door open after a few tense horror-movie moments that ended with that gut-wrenching gasping-for-air cry that kids do (and a Captain Picard face palm), and then both of them falling asleep. Not ME, but everyone else, fast asleep. Like tonight. Like right now, actually. At just after 8 p.m. On a Thursday.
So, in the interest of allowing everyone the benefit of my stupid experience, please learn from my idiotic mistake, and just CONSIDER not positioning your baby’s pack-n-play RIGHT next to a closed, lockable door to which you have no key. For your consideration.
Oh, and I know it’s off topic, but…
- Jolly Rancher Hotties. Buy them. They’re fantastic.
- Defuse kids’ tantrums with one question? Might have to try this.
- I loved Niecy Nash on “Clean House;” I wish her new show (“Claws”) was streaming!
- The Scary Mommy Manifesto is my favorite thing since… ever.
- Tell me something I don’t know.
That’s it for today. Thanks for reading.