(More than) Fourinarow.net

Yesterday, I woke to find myself married to a 40-year-old man.  Who’d a thought?

The kids teased him by walking around hunched over and moaning.  (As if they have a clue about old age.)

It was “misting” out as we got ready for school, so I wisely chose to drive the kids.  After walking Luke to kindergarten, it started to rain in earnest.  But, needing a few items for Dan’s birthday dinner, I decided it was best to run to the store while we were already out.  Sam had a play date lined up for later in the morning and I did NOT want to squander my baby-only time grocery shopping.

We grabbed what we needed and came back home.  I put the few things I bought away and then pulled out my cake mix so I could have Dan’s birthday cake baked and cooled by the time kids were home from school.  I opened the box (it’s the only way to make a cake IMHO) to find cake mix all over the inside… not in the bag.  I checked the bag, hoping it was just “extra” that had gotten into the box during packaging.  No such luck.  The bag inside was wide open along the seam.  Damn.  ‘Cause you know I’m not the type to have an extra box of cake mix in my pantry.

Luckily, Andrew was still in his car seat.  I grabbed him, grabbed Sam and off to the store we headed.  Again.  This time I did buy an extra box.

****

Luke and Sam were returned to me around 11 and we had an uneventful (for our house) lunch.  A little later, my friend Erin and her little boy came over to play while we waited for the big kids to finish school.  The usual chaos ensued, but we had a nice time and soon it was time to get the other kids.  Erin and Brendan headed out and Sam, needing a last goodbye, stood with the front door WIDE OPEN.

Off went Cheerio.

Off went Luke and Sam to chase her.

Off went Erin after them.

I stood on the front porch stoop and called them all back.  No time for the dog – we had kids to pick up.  (She’d come back.  Or not.)

I wave to Brendan and Erin, gather my two back into the house and close the door.  I run to the bathroom and hear a honk.  Rushing, I open the door – the dog is at the front door (the honk had come from Erin who almost ran over her backing out).  I open the screen door and off runs the dog again!  Off go the boys again!

I could have cried.  But there wasn’t time.  (I swear, people must think we’re a bunch of clowns – children, dogs, adults, babies bursting from the house.  Loudly.  Constantly.)

Erin left.  The boys ran back to the house with Cheerio chasing them. This time she chose to come back inside.  I quickly shoved three kids into the van and off we went.

****

Excited about Dad’s “party”, the kids had a very hard time sitting still to do their homework.  There were tears.  There was yelling.  There were distractions out the wazoo.  But, we got it done.  (And I do mean WE.)  As soon as pencils were set down, the children burst from their chairs and started grabbing party supplies.  Balloons were heliumnated.  Noise makers were tested. ( A lot.)  Presents were arranged.  The cake was decorated (I didn’t bother with a picture.  Trust me when I tell you that it wasn’t all that attractive after everyone had their turn “decorating”.)

We put the balloons, kids, noisemakers, party hats and gifts into my bedroom.  And waited for Dan to come home.

It. Was. Excruciating.

The minutes seemed like hours.  Or maybe days.  The kids jumped on the bed.  They ran around the room.  They ran from the room to the back door to check for Dan.  They ran back to the room.  They hid.  They unhid.

I had a glass of wine.

FINALLY, Dan arrived.  Amazingly, the kids were able to stay quiet for the time it took Dan to walk from the back door to the bedroom door.  And then it was quiet no longer.

Noise was made, presents ripped open and hugs given.  In the course of about 30 seconds, my space went from looking like a bedroom to looking like a regurgitated parade.

It was fun.