There are few things I like better than a Chick-Fil-A chicken biscuit for breakfast. Every once in a while, I have to treat myself, and since I had to have bloodwork done this morning, what better time than after my "fast" (hah, yeah right, I simply hadn’t eaten breakfast yet). It’ll do wonders for my cholesterol, I’m sure, but man, they are so good.
We are going to the beach today, so I’m excited. Shame the weather won’t cooperate. Why did it have to be warmer in December than it is now? One freak 70 degree day isn’t too much to ask. Anyway, I have a million things to do before we go, including pack for everyone in the house. My husband, God love him, has screwed me yet again. He didn’t put his laundry in the laundry room, favoring instead to create a small mountain on the floor beside the bed. I cautioned him against doing so a couple of days ago. Yesterday, I also asked him several times whether he had packed, or if he planned to bring any clothes with him. He flat out said he hoped that I would pack for him. See, here’s where he knows he has me: he knows I’ll do it, because I would like to leave as soon as he gets home from work. Therefore, if I don’t do it, I’ll have to wait for him, and he will most assuredly take his sweet time. SIGH. I could just leave withouth him, I suppose, but who wants to deal with that can of worms?
It’s amazing, the amount of stuff a parent must carry with them when traveling with small children. I do tend to overpack, but when I have packed less, I have needed more. If I only packed one outfit for each day, the child has invariably had a diaper blow-out or got ridiculously wet or messy. If I didn’t pack allergy medicines and ibuprofen, the child got a fever in the middle of the night. If I didn’t bring a pack & play, the hotel ran out of them, or forgot to put it in the room. I find it’s better to just go ahead and bring the whole house, despite the protests of my husband. See, to him, packing the car is an artform. I say, if you have that much time to spend arranging, you have time to do your own laundry and pack your own stuff. Needless to say, I plan to pack the car by the time he gets home, so we won’t have that wait, too. And then there’s the space issue in the minivan. I’m used to having a big "butt" on my vehicle in which to stow lots of stuff...the aforementioned pack & play, the stroller, the suitcases and snacks...in the minivan, I just don’t have what I’m used to, and that’s going to be a struggle. However, it will be really nice and really QUIET on the ride to the beach, what with each kid having their own dvd player and headphones. No more screaming, hitting, stealing toys, etc. Now, if only we will have such luck when we go to Myrtle Beach this summer.
I’m hoping not to fight with my beloved husband today, or even this weekend. Traveling with the children tends to make us (or maybe just me) a little edgy. I tend to want things done my way (because I know best, of course, being the mother and all). I tend to get irritated when I don’t get my way...like the leaving on time thing. If we leave late, then the children don’t go to bed until late, and they’re a wreck the next day. However, he just thinks he’s on vacation, so he doesn’t have to hurry for anything. It’s that focus on only himself without considering the effect on the rest of us that makes me want to choke him. Hopefully, things will just go smoothly.
On that note, I really should pack so that I can follow my own plans! It’s only three days, right?
Showing posts with label Chick-fil-a. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chick-fil-a. Show all posts
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Breakfast With Little People
September 5, 2007
This morning, I took the boys to Chick-fil-a for breakfast, because, you know, they have the fabulous chicken biscuit. Only I was retarded. I asked for a number 4. Then I realized that was on a bagel, and would probably be too much food for me. I asked to change it to a number 5. I thought I was getting a chicken biscuit with egg and cheese. Only I ordered the wrong sandwich and there was no chicken, so I was very disappointed. We sat down next to a father with his toddler boy and baby girl, who immediately refused to eat and spent the next half hour turned around in their seats, waving at my boys and saying hi. I felt kinda guilty at having compromised their nice meal. He was a big man, with a buzzed head and a great fat belly. The back of his neck, as my sister always says, looked like a pack of hot dogs. I couldn't stop staring at it, thanking the sweet Lord that while I might be fat, at least I don't have back-of-the-neck fat.
Halfway through our meal, as usual, Collin loudly said, "OK, I have to go POO POO real BAD!" I told him he would have to wait until Booah was done with his breakfast--I was worried that if we left all our food on the table, it would be cleaned up for us. And of course, I couldn't very well leave Noah there to eat by himself. Collin proceeded to squirm and complain and demand that Noah hurry up. In an even louder voice, and much to the amusement of Hot Dog Neck and the men seated next to us, he said, "MAMA, MAYBE THE POO POO WILL GO BACK UP IN MY HOLE!" I nearly spit my coffee all over the table, and then if it wasn't so funny, I probably would have hid under it with embarrassment.
He made it to the bathroom in time. Then we went to the play area, and Booah promptly pooped in his diaper. We cut the playtime short and went to the truck to change him...no diaper bag. We went across the street to the Target and bought diapers and wipes, cause it's not like they won't get used. Then we proceeded to look for the ever-elusive Lightning McQueen bike for Collin's birthday. I gave up and ordered it online, and had to spend an ungoldy amount of money to have it shipped 2nd day air. And then there was the Lightning McQueen helmet & knee pad set, and it actually cost more to ship it 2nd day than the set itself. Needless to say, I'm not waiting as long to buy Cameron's birthday gift.
After we came home, Booah pooped three more times. And I forgot to mention that he pooped once when he first got up. And he pooped once this evening. Sooner or later, you start to take it personally. It's like he's just doing it to get a rise out of us. Add Collin, and poop takes up a significant portion of the day. At least Cam poops by herself now. But you know, I wouldn't have it any other way. I am very grateful for my children, especially since I've just learned of this family in Pasadena whose daughter Kamryn just died of leukemia. She was only 8, like my daughter. She had red hair, like my daughter. She danced, like my daughter. It just makes me extra-grateful for these little people I have running around, pooping and screaming, making messes and fighting. Because I can still kiss them goodnight. I can still hold them when they get a skinned knee. I don't have to say goodbye, and learn how to live without them. Yep, I'm pretty thankful for poop.
This morning, I took the boys to Chick-fil-a for breakfast, because, you know, they have the fabulous chicken biscuit. Only I was retarded. I asked for a number 4. Then I realized that was on a bagel, and would probably be too much food for me. I asked to change it to a number 5. I thought I was getting a chicken biscuit with egg and cheese. Only I ordered the wrong sandwich and there was no chicken, so I was very disappointed. We sat down next to a father with his toddler boy and baby girl, who immediately refused to eat and spent the next half hour turned around in their seats, waving at my boys and saying hi. I felt kinda guilty at having compromised their nice meal. He was a big man, with a buzzed head and a great fat belly. The back of his neck, as my sister always says, looked like a pack of hot dogs. I couldn't stop staring at it, thanking the sweet Lord that while I might be fat, at least I don't have back-of-the-neck fat.
Halfway through our meal, as usual, Collin loudly said, "OK, I have to go POO POO real BAD!" I told him he would have to wait until Booah was done with his breakfast--I was worried that if we left all our food on the table, it would be cleaned up for us. And of course, I couldn't very well leave Noah there to eat by himself. Collin proceeded to squirm and complain and demand that Noah hurry up. In an even louder voice, and much to the amusement of Hot Dog Neck and the men seated next to us, he said, "MAMA, MAYBE THE POO POO WILL GO BACK UP IN MY HOLE!" I nearly spit my coffee all over the table, and then if it wasn't so funny, I probably would have hid under it with embarrassment.
He made it to the bathroom in time. Then we went to the play area, and Booah promptly pooped in his diaper. We cut the playtime short and went to the truck to change him...no diaper bag. We went across the street to the Target and bought diapers and wipes, cause it's not like they won't get used. Then we proceeded to look for the ever-elusive Lightning McQueen bike for Collin's birthday. I gave up and ordered it online, and had to spend an ungoldy amount of money to have it shipped 2nd day air. And then there was the Lightning McQueen helmet & knee pad set, and it actually cost more to ship it 2nd day than the set itself. Needless to say, I'm not waiting as long to buy Cameron's birthday gift.
After we came home, Booah pooped three more times. And I forgot to mention that he pooped once when he first got up. And he pooped once this evening. Sooner or later, you start to take it personally. It's like he's just doing it to get a rise out of us. Add Collin, and poop takes up a significant portion of the day. At least Cam poops by herself now. But you know, I wouldn't have it any other way. I am very grateful for my children, especially since I've just learned of this family in Pasadena whose daughter Kamryn just died of leukemia. She was only 8, like my daughter. She had red hair, like my daughter. She danced, like my daughter. It just makes me extra-grateful for these little people I have running around, pooping and screaming, making messes and fighting. Because I can still kiss them goodnight. I can still hold them when they get a skinned knee. I don't have to say goodbye, and learn how to live without them. Yep, I'm pretty thankful for poop.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
