It started raining when I was driving home from work last night, which was fine with me.
Geoff was working late (again)-- either he's having an affair or he's one busy guy at work.
Let's hope for the latter.
Either way, the result is the same- pick up the kids from two separate day cares, go home, cook supper, clean the house, bath the kids, get them to bed, feel exhausted at the end of the day, and ironically- lonely- given that I never get a mere moment to myself from the time I open my eyes in the morning until the time they close sixteen hours later.
It occurred to me when I was driving home that my life feels sometimes like it's just a series of tasks I have to tick off of a list.
Being a list inclined person, this suits me most of the time.
But yesterday it just felt... dreary or something.
Maybe it was just the rain.
"Do you want to go to Petland?" I asked the kids once they were picked up, thinking that I could use some puppy love.
The kids were ecstatic, and this pleased me.
We had to walk through the mall, which was an ordeal, to get to Petland.
Payton wanted to buy a purse she saw in a window.
Alex wanted to buy a motorcycle he saw a poster of.
They both wanted to get some candies from those blimey machines they have every three feet. Every three feet brought another temper tantrum.
Finally we got to Petland. And there it was: brace yourself. Another make shift sign on the door.
The store was closed.
Come Back Tomorrow! the sign said.
There was still the matter of supper of to contend with. Passing by Safeway, I decided to pick up a Rotisserie chicken.
I trudged through the store with the kids, who were still pissy about the whole Petland thing. They wanted to buy everything they saw along the way- didn't matter if it was a loaf of rye bread or a package of Chicken Oxo. They wanted it.
Finally we got to the deli. No make shift sign this time, but as I approached the spot where the chickens would be I could see that it was devoid of any chicken. A lonely box of meat loaf sat instead, a pale glob of gray meat smothered in a mysterious orangey sauce.
I knew this wouldn't go over well with the kids, but I felt entirely out of options, so I picked it up.
I got home, setting the bags down to hurry to the bathroom.
"NO JD!" I could hear Payton shouting from the living room a few seconds later. (JD=our dog, by the way.)
And then more insistently; "JD!STEP BACK!!GET!!"
And then she was banging on the door, screaming "Alex tried to open the meatloaf and he dropped it on the floor and now the dog's eating it."
OH GOD HELP ME
So the dog ate the dinner and Alex was screaming in protest- who knew that he was so attached to meatloaf??
The only thing that lightened my mood was when I was driving home, I saw this sign on the pickup truck in front of me: "I spent most of my money on women and booze. I wasted the rest."
Someone commented to me once "I really like these stories you come up with."
I was like these are not stories.
This is my actual life.
Pimp it, someone.