My Ridiculous Life

It’s like an NPR show, but less heartwarming and more head-shaking. But it is what it is, and I have learned long ago to go with the ridiculous flow.

This morning, I had no intentions of really leaving the house – definitely not with Maura in tow.  Which is why I grabbed her some bad but comfy pants and a shirt that is at the “We’ve probably outgrown this” stage, told her to dress herself.

I, at least, was somewhat presentable.

But then my oldest called me with a bike issue and in need of a ride home.  Fine.  I’m nice, and there’s a drive-thru Starbuck’s on the route.  I went to the bathroom, came downstairs to tell Teen #2 to watch his sister, who was standing on her scooter watching a movie, patio door wide open.

Um…yeah…keep an eye on her.

However, as I pulled out of the driveway, Maura opens the front door, then I see it shut, and I know I can’t just drive off like that, I had to make sure the situation was secure.  I get to the door and the teen is telling me “Yeah, I made the mistake of putting her scooter back outside…she got away from me…” as Maura’s grabbing her coat, her feet in Crocs, going “Bye Collin!”

“I’m Sean.” says Not Collin.

Ugh.  Fine.  She can come with me.  It’s okay that she looks slightly ridiculous in her mismatched clothes and hasn’t brushed her hair yet because we’re just getting the Actual Collin.  Except I called a friend to see what was up, and it turned into “Hey, let’s meet up.” and I was all “What the heck!”

So we get Actual Collin, and Maura freaks out because we drive home first even though I told her we were meeting my friend, whom she adores.  But then she calms down as we throw Collin out to the curb and head back out.  We made it through lunch fine, because Maura’s usually well behaved when food is involved, but we decided to hit up Joann’s.

Now, Maura loves a fabric store.  She’ll go in, pet stuff, find a piece of fabric she likes that turns into doll blankets.  Last time, she was happy with fat quarters.  So this time, we’re wandering through Joann’s, my friend finding what she needs, and Maura and I wander to fabrics, where we spot a bunch of My Little Pony fabric.


Maura grabbed the multi-ponied rainbow fabric.  We got a number – 82.  I looked at who was being served – 77.  I watched the one girl go on break, leaving just one person cutting fabric.  I sighed.

“Poopy?” Maura said.



Oh God.  “But you went this morning, can you hold it?”


“Can we wait until you get home?”


Luckily my friend came along and offered to wait for our turn.  We ran to the bathroom, and sure enough, Maura pooped.

“High five poopy?” she said from the throne.

“High five poopy!” I said, as we high fived.

We went back to the cutting counter, which was now on number 80.   At some point, the person holding #81 had given up on life, and a second gal came to cut fabric.  It was our turn, and I took the bolt up as Maura squealed with joy and asked for one yard of fabric.  One yard was cut, and I asked if we could get whatever percentage of fabric my friend needed for her project when all hell broke loose.

Because for the first time, Maura didn’t understand what it meant to just get a cut of fabric.

So she freaked out.

She freaked out loudly and screamingly, flailing away, causing a huge scene and then running off.

So I followed her, caught her, and she dropped to the floor, kicking her one shoe off.  I noticed that both shoes were missing, and I vaguely wondered where her other shoe was as she screamed and groups of women turned to look at who set their child on fire.  I crouched down and told Maura that if she couldn’t calm down, we’d have to go outside, and grabbed her one shoe.

One lovely woman stopped to tell me that I was being a good mom as Maura calmed down to only slight sobbing and I babbled some sort of thanks and platitude, and then said “Oh, there’s the other shoe!” with a laugh (it was behind me.)  I crouched back down to Maura level.

“Did you just have too much sugar yesterday?” I said.

“Yes.” she replied.

Okay, so she really doesn’t get the question, I just have these conversations with her for my sake.  Sometimes though, her answers are quite accurate.  Like at that moment.

She calmed down as quickly as she had gotten worked up.  My friend came along with the fabric, and Maura cheered up again, and laughed and just like that, it was all over.

I may have referred to her as Miss Mood Swing as we walked out, her still cheerful and laughing just minutes after screaming and sobbing hysterically.

Oh, and in between it all, she asked my friend, the cutting counter woman, and the cashier “High five poopy?!”  My friend understood, and meanwhile, I was happy Maura’s speech is just unclear enough that the other complete strangers didn’t quite get what she was saying.

We headed home, not without yelling because I drove past Starbucks, then laughing because I let her have the window down, then freaking out on her brother for using the tv without her permission once we got home, to sneaking to cupcakes with a smile, and yelling at her brother again over the tv.

And this is my ridiculous life.  Or as we call it – a Monday.

We’re going to watch some My Little Pony now so I can rest up for whatever Maura throws at me next.  Hopefully not literally.

what usually happens behind me as I write - you know, when she's not pestering her brothers for the tv
what usually happens behind me as I write – you know, when she’s not pestering her brothers for the tv