This morning I loaded up the kids in Craig’s truck with the usual comedy of errors: multiple trips in and out of the house; chasing Callen from truck door to truck door (it’s a four-door truck) as part of his routine of climbing into the truck and then catapulting himself around on the inside of it with a sort of enthusiasm rivaled only by super bounce balls; loosening car seat straps to fit winter coats, wrestling, buckling, and then tightening the straps again; returning to the house to spray down Callen’s brand new cloth backpack with Shout after realizing that he drug it though motor oil that had been dripped on the garage floor; and finally climbing into the driver’s seat, my head pounding, with a combo Carina Whine-fest and Callen Fuss-a-palooza going on in the back seat.
I should also mention here that this would be the first day of both kids going to parents day out in over two weeks due to a half-way across the country trip to see the in-laws followed immediately by a 10 day battle with pink eye/ear infection/upper respiratory yucko. 10 days is a long time to be stuck in the house with two mini-sickies.
And we were late. For school, that is. So, I punched the garage door opener button, turned around and attempted to threaten the kids into silence, turned back around, buckled my seat belt, put the truck in reverse, and took my foot off of the brake. Thud. I knew what happened without looking. I backed right into the garage door, which had not cleared the height of the truck bed in its too-slow ascent. I got out to face the scene of bent metal and crushed tail light. I said some bad words. I got back into the truck, called Craig and told him the news, and then I cried.
Later in the afternoon, after two separate visits from two separate garage door repair men had rendered my garage door operable, but still dented and in need of some replacement panels and parts, I felt a little better. By four pm I could actually get the truck out of the garage and go somewhere. As we drove to get Callen’s three-weeks-too-long hair cut, I realized that the garage door and I had a lot in common. Both of us had been knocked off-kilter by the mayhem wrought by a toddler and a preschooler. Like the garage door, I am still able to function in my duties, but I am feeling a little battered and bent from this most recent stretch of motherhood. Since the mayhem began, the door and I have declined in our abilities to fulfill our duties. We need some fixing up. Luckily, only one of us costs $400 to repair. I just need a quiet day to myself to reflect, relax, and iron out the wrinkles in my super-mom cape.
*For those feeling concern over the nature of my last two blog posts: rest assured that I do indeed love my children and love being their mother, and that my next life-related post will be of a sunnier disposition.