On Friday night, I was craving pizza for dinner. With an empty pantry and a long workday behind me, the last thing I wanted was to drag two hungry kids to the grocery store. So, I went online to find the delivery number for Firetrail Pizza. The name should have been a warning. I got disconnected twice before finally reaching someone, only to discover that the number listed was for a brewery. At that moment, I should have taken it as a sign from the universe—a beer would have been nice. But alas, my stomach was growling.
As I tried to place my order for a pear-gorgonzola pizza, my youngest, Lily, started crying. I picked her up, and she calmed down, but once I set her back down, the screams returned. The person on the other end of the line was clearly irritated. Desperate for pizza, I locked myself in the master bedroom to complete the order, feeling like a cornered animal. I had a nagging fear that I had accidentally ordered something I detest, like olives.
What felt like twenty minutes turned into forty, and before I knew it, an hour had passed. My family was becoming increasingly hangry. I tapped my fingers on the counter and paced the floor. Finally, I called the delivery driver, only to find out they had no record of my order. Bedtime was approaching, and I needed a solution fast.
I quickly placed a new order for Thai food and thought about the scathing Yelp review I would write about the pizza place. By the time we ate, it was nearly three hours after my initial call. Where was my dinner? Honestly, I figured I’d just pour myself a glass of wine. I could have sworn I left it right here. It could always be worse.
Saturday Didn’t Fare Much Better
My fussy, teething toddler decided to replace breakfast with a meltdown, clinging to me like a little koala while sobbing in my ear. I desperately needed coffee—coffee and silence. My five-year-old, Emma, sat in her ballet leotard and managed to sit in maple syrup, so we were running late for dance class. Naturally, she didn’t change, leaving a sticky brown stain.
Arriving fifteen minutes late, Emma opened her dance bag only to realize she forgot her tap shoes. But the show must go on! While she danced—sticky and shoeless—I sneaked off to a nearby coffee shop with my toddler to grab a much-needed latte.
As I placed my order, the fabulous barista worked her magic. I slid my credit card into the reader and took a sip of the latte just as the cashier informed me, “Your card is declined.” I tried my debit card, praying it wouldn’t fail me. My paycheck had just been deposited on Friday; there’s no reason for this.
Frustrated, I stepped aside to call my bank, keeping an eye on my latte while Lily tugged at my pant leg, tears streaming down her face. When my phone slipped from my hand and fell to the ground, I almost joined it in a tantrum. Just then, I heard a rip and felt a draft; my floral underwear was on full display for the entire café. I wasn’t leaving without my coffee. I wedged myself against the wall and made a beeline for the latte, imagining Emma’s reaction when I finally picked her up.
When I arrived at the ballet studio, the teacher’s puzzled expression greeted me as I moonwalked to the car, trying to avoid any further embarrassment. I should have just locked myself inside the house for the day, but the show must go on.
Birthday Party Chaos
Later that afternoon, we headed to a swim lesson and a birthday party. At the pool, Emma chose not to listen to the teacher, who eventually asked her to get out. I sat there watching my money literally float away. Thankfully, she apologized and finished her lesson. Afterward, we headed to Target to find a birthday gift.
Once in the car, we programmed our GPS for the party, only to arrive at an empty house. We knocked, rang the doorbell, and stood confused on the porch, surrounded by construction workers. A worker popped his head out and informed us that Lucy and her family weren’t home. Wrong birthday party. Wrong day. I felt like crying. Lily was whining and on the verge of a meltdown, needing a nap.
The correct party was at least twenty minutes away. We were late, but no one was expecting us, which didn’t matter. I was determined to redeem myself as the mom I always wanted to be. We arrived thirty-five minutes late to Jake’s birthday party, only to realize I was about to make the same mistake again by going to Safeway for a present.
That’s when Emma vanished. One moment she was next to me, and the next, she was gone. My heart raced as I searched aisle after aisle, calling her name while Lily wiggled in the shopping cart. Ten minutes later, I found Emma casually strolling toward me with a book in hand, as if nothing had happened.
Furious, I gave her a stern talking-to, purchased the gift, and got everyone in the car. By the time we finally got to the party, we were nearly two hours late. To top it off, it was a Halloween-themed party, and we stood out like sore thumbs—definitely not helping my social anxiety.
Sunday and the Aftermath
On Sunday, I managed to take Emma to the correct birthday party with the right gift. It was scorching outside, and Lily looked like she was about to melt down. Instead, she threw herself onto the floor in a dramatic fashion, and we decided to leave early.
We still hadn’t done any grocery shopping. On the way home to grab the bags, Lily fell asleep in the car. I carried her to her room, where she took a three-hour nap while my stomach growled in hunger.
When my grumpy toddler finally woke up, I tried to get her in the car for groceries, but she had other ideas and threw a tantrum in the driveway. I considered having a meltdown myself.
Monday Madness
Monday arrived, and as I dropped Emma off at dance camp, I counted my blessings—at least she didn’t have a brown stain on her leotard today. I walked back to my car, tugged on the handle, and realized it was locked. I had left my keys in Emma’s dance bag.
I had to go back inside and interrupt her class, much to the dismay of the twenty pairs of eyes watching as I rummaged through her bag for my keys. With my keys in hand, I hurried back to the car, eager to get to work on time. Then it hit me—I’d also left my phone in her dance bag.
Maybe I needed another cup of coffee to get through this day. My head felt groggy. After a work meeting, I picked Emma up to take her to daycare. She changed quickly in the backseat, and I set my phone on top of the car—mistake.
As I drove off, I heard a loud THUNK. It wasn’t until I arrived at the office that I realized my phone was now lost somewhere on the streets of Petaluma. Petaluma, enjoy that expensive gift; you must have needed it more than I did.
It could always be worse…at least you didn’t take my wine. Or my latte. For more on parenting and home insemination tips, check out this excellent resource on week-by-week pregnancy. If you want to dive deeper into self insemination, take a look at this authority on the topic.
Summary
This weekend was a whirlwind of mishaps that included pizza delivery disasters, ballet class blunders, and chaotic birthday party adventures. From dealing with a teething toddler to navigating social snafus at parties, it felt like everything that could go wrong did. Despite the hectic moments, there were humorous highlights, and each day presented new challenges that tested my patience as a parent. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, remember, it could always be worse!