Friday, August 27, 2010

Commuting

Why my commute takes as long as my husband's even though I go 8 miles within the Baltimore area, and he goes from Baltimore to DC. From an email to said husband about trying to get to work today.  (The Cast: Mummy, who needs to be at a 10 o'clock meeting;  Clara aged 3; Winton aged 18 months; and Hardie, a bassett-type hound aged 3ish with a penchant for peeing on couches and vomiting when upset.)

Getting here was HORRENDOUS. Neither kid would co-operate with departure. Both said "no no no" repeatedly to the idea of going to school. Clara wouldn't go upstairs to pee until I forced her to, and then she wouldn't come back down. Kid screaming at rock-concert volumes, dog barking unsure whether we are playing or fighting. Me going upstairs to carry Clara down, Clara hitting me. Dog barking. Me trying to get my shoes on, Clara pushing Winton backwards off the second step. Me losing it and plopping her into the stroller (containment!) with a bit too much verve. Epic crying from both kids. Dog barking. Leave Clara inside and take Winton and bags to car, realise Winton has poop oozing out of his pants. Back inside. Diaper change. Everyone screaming, dog barking. Finally we leave. Me carrying Winton, and lifting still-screaming Clara by one arm out to the pavement where I set her down on the sidewalk like a piece of shrieking angry luggage while I put Winton in his seat. Clara flailing as I try to put her into her seat means she bangs her head on the doorframe. Intensified screaming.
Ggggggggggggg.

Hardie suspiciously quiet once I had locked the front door behind the human members of our party.  I fear for our couch.

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