I decided to take the boys to the science museum after school today. As I was telling Sam about our little outing, I realized how crazy I must look to others in public. The boys and I are a travelling circus. I should have that circus clown music following me around wherever I go. The following events are all true, and happened in less than 1 1/2 hours today. Just imagine what the rest of my life looks like.
Just getting everyone out of the car, one in a stroller, pacifier located, coats on, keys located, phone located, museum pass located, sippy cups in hand, making sure Henry keeps one hand on the car so he's not wandering around the parking lot, etc is a task. Also, Henry really enjoys hopping right now. ("I HOP, OK?!") He has to hop everywhere instead of walk. Two year olds do not walk fast. Imagine how long it takes them to HOP 100 yards to the entrance of the museum. And it's cold. And Sawyer hates being in the stroller, so he's screaming the whole time. Cue the circus music.
We made it inside and looked in my wallet for my driver's licence because I have to show a photo id with my museum pass. It's not in my wallet. Or my purse. Or the stroller. Thankfully the ticket lady had the decency to break the rules and let me use another form of id. I guess she just didn't have the heart to send the crazy sweaty lady with the hopping toddler and screaming infant back to the car to look for a driver's licence. May the Lord bless her greatly.
Henry was able to stick his face over the huge blower machine (it's supposed to be used for learning about aerodynamics, but whatev.) for about 10 minutes before Sawyer ever so politely mentioned that he was hungry and could not last another moment without food before he wasted away to nothing. So I dragged Henry away from the scientific face blower and found a nursing mom room (I wanna give a shout-out to the museum for having those rooms!). I gave Henry a snack to keep him busy, and started feeding Sawyer. Henry quickly finished his snack, and discovered that the lock on the nursing mom room was very much at 2-year old little boy height. An actual real, working lock was just too much for his little engineering mind to handle. He HAD to know the inner workings of that lock. So I spent the rest of the time holding the door shut with my foot so that Henry did not fling the door open while Sawyer was in the middle of his mid-afternoon snack.
We were able to explore for about 4.35 minutes before I started smelling poop. Back to the mom room we go. I had to put Sawyer back in the stroller so I could change Henry, so Sawyer began screaming. Apparently Henry thought the changing table was covered in jagged shards of glass, because he screamed and squirmed the whole time I changed his poopy diaper. Hands got washed, the lock was again investigated, and again we were able to enjoy the museum.
This time we made it about 9 minutes before I had to use the restroom. I held Henry's hand, had Sawyer in my arms, pushed the stroller, and tried to find a bathroom. I peed while holding Sawyer, and looked up from washing my hands in time to see Henry face-down on the bathroom floor, investigating the little drain in the floor. Oh my gosh.
15 minutes later. Sawyer is angry. This child cannot handle being wet or dirty for any length of time at all. Back to the restroom we go. Sawyer was changed, the lock was thoroughly investigated, and back into the museum we went. Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you not keeping track, that's 4 bathroom trips in 45 minutes.
There is a really cool Wizard of Oz exhibit there now, which I am sad that Henry and Sawyer could not fully appreciate because they have never seen the movie. As I was running around, trying to get them excited about munchkins and yellow roads and stuff, a museum worker came up to me and asked if my child was missing a shoe. Um, no, I totally would have noticed if my kid was running around without a shoe. Then she proceeds to hold up Henry's shoe that she found on the floor several minutes ago. My child was running around the science museum with only one shoe on, and I didn't even notice. And the award for Mom of the Year goes to.....
The best part of the museum, second only to the face-blower, is the elevator. I promised Henry we would ride the elevator before we left. However, I did not know that the museum was holding a very formal, very nice reception in front of the elevator. But a promise is a promise. I held my head high and followed my hopping toddler to the elevator. We rode up and down a couple of times, each time pausing long enough for the doors to open and let the fancy reception people get a good look at us before closing again and heading back up.
At this point the museum was closing and I was DONE. We hopped back to the car and called it a day. But what's so sad, is this is not an isolated occurrence, or a bad day, this is every time we leave the house. I feel like I have so few brain cells left, and the ones I do still have are barely hanging in there. When Sam got home, he asked me where my car keys were. Umm, my kid ran around a museum with one shoe missing today and I didn't notice. You think I have any idea where my car keys are?!?
PS- they were in a little cubby in the rear passenger side door. Where else would they be, Sam?!
Welcome to my circus.
Oh, Amy. I remember. It wasn't that long ago that Em and Noah were both little bitty and needing me constantly. They're only 21 months apart, so I remember nursing the baby while explaining things to a wiggling, curious, talkative toddler. It was difficult, to say the least. And yes, of course you feel your brain cells dwindling! But I can promise you this. These days will fly by.
ReplyDeleteAnd before you know it, Henry will be in 1st grade, and you'll come rushing out of your room in the morning dressed for work at 6:45 on the dot, because you have to leave RIGHT NOW, only to find that Sawyer has peed his pants and decided to run around bottomless with one shoe in hand and the other...who knows where? And Henry will be at the kitchen table doing homework. You will have asked him last night if he had any schoolwork to do for tomorrow, and he will have insisted that he did not. So you'll re-dress the littlest one, drag the older one out crying because you simply cannot wait any longer, and you're already going on 10 minutes late. The dog will dart out the front door. So you'll corral the dog while the kids complain that it's soooo cold outside, as if you personally control the weather outside and failed to warm it for them, and when you finally get in the car with the kids, you'll realize that the cat is staring you down, mewling at you, because he wants back in the house. How did he get out? When did he get out? You won't have time to ask these questions. And guilt ridden, you'll rush out into the cold, unlock the front door, and shoo the fat cat back inside before re-locking the door, running back to the car, and peeling out to drop the kids off at the nanny's. And during that drive, the kids will complain that they're hungry, despite the fact that you asked them both if they wanted breakfast, and they refused. Repeatedly. And when you drop them off with instructions that Henry is to finish his school assignment before he plays, he'll start sulking about it, which will fill you with maternal guilt. And then Sawyer will cling to your legs and cry, even though he's been going to this nanny for 6 months and adores her, and he'll look at you with big, blue, tear-filled eyes, and say, "Mama, don't you know how much I love you? I miss you when you're gone. You're always gone! Why do you always leave me?" And you'll keep a straight face and hug and kiss him and leave, and you'll cry all the way to work (an hour away without traffic), and when you pull into the parking lot at work, you'll realize that your mascara has smeared and you look... Well, bedraggled would be putting it nicely. So you'll try to minimize the damage, fake a smile, and head inside, and 3 hours into your workday, you'll remember that you forgot to put Henry's lunchbox in his backpack. And when you finally make it back home in the evening, Sam will ask you if you realized that there's powdered sugar and chocolate little kid hand prints all over your butt from the morning nanny-time wrap around and cry. Where did he get powdered sugar and (Oh, I hope it's chocolate. Please let it be chocolate)? Wash, rinse, repeat.
It will be exhausting. And beautiful. And here before you know it. Hang in there, Mama. You're doing just fine.
-Claire Blankenship
*All the above events happened to us yesterday.