How I Lost My Mom-of-the-Year Award, Chapter 378

The following conversations occurred in my household a few evenings ago.

**

We were having dinner and Sadie grabbed the salt shaker. "Oh shit!" I yelled, as she proceeded to dump a pile of salt on her plate before I could grab it away from her. A few moments later, she knocked over her cup, spilling milk across the table. "Oh shit," she yelled.

**

Later the same evening, I was trying to corral the kids out of the house to go watch Scott's softball game. It was the end of a very long day (still getting used to the work and day care routine - how long do I get to use that excuse for?) and I will be the first to admit that I was far from in my best parenting frame of mind. In a last ditch effort to please-OMG-can-we-just-be-in-the-car-and-driving-for-the-love-of-all-that-is-good-and-I-cannot-be-patient-for-one-second-longer, I screamed out to the heavens, "Just get in the fucking car already!" Moments later as Sadie climbed into her car seat, Dylan noticed that her shoe had fallen off. "Get your fucking Croc," he told her.

**

Oh shit, but we are so fucked. Do I get any points for the fact that at least they are using the words in the proper contexts?

Parallels

I had to parallel park my car last night. I hadn't parallel parked since 2001.* You can get by just fine in this metropolis without ever having to parallel park. You don't even have to do it to pass your driving test for a license. I chose to take that parking spot because it was right outside the garage that would have charged me $2 an hour to park. It was the only available, free-of-charge spot.

I had to rack by brain for a few moments before I attempted. Is it ease in front ways from the back, or is it back in from the front? Oh yeah, it must be back in from the front, which is why I avoid parallel parking like the plague. I really suck at backing in. Oh well, here goes nothing.

I pulled up next to the car in front of the empty spot, threw the car into reverse, and started backing in. Piece of cake, right? Oh GOD this is why I NEVER, EVER parallel park. Because I can never just ease right into the spot. I know I have room. I saw the space. I know how big my car is. I can do this. No I can't. Put it in park. Let me just get out and double check how much room I have in front and behind me. Okay, I'm definitely good. I'll scoot right in there, no problem. Wait. Didn't that car just drive past a moment ago? Did he turn around? Is he waiting for me to FAIL in my attempt to park the car? OMG! He is circling and waiting for me to give up so he can get my spot! OH NO HE IS NOT GOING TO GET THIS SPOT!

So yeah, it took me about 20 minutes of back and forth easing, getting out of the car more than once to visualize my position to finally get it, but I parallel parked my car last night. And I am sure that another 8 years will have to pass for me to do it again. But I'm almost certain I heard applause as I walked away from the car clicking it locked with the remote. What do you know? My circling vulture turned into a cheerleader.

This post was going to be meaningful, like about how parallel parking is some sort of metaphor for my life, or motherhood, or whatever it is I'm doing here. How it is this constant seemingly futile inching back and forth while gaining no ground with vultures circling, waiting for me to fail so they can say, "I told you so!" And in the end I somehow pull it off. Small little victories every day that someone, or no one, may notice, but that give me a tiny glimpse of insight into the fact that I might just be doing something okay. But take from it what you want. Maybe it is just a silly story about how I am afraid to attempt things that are difficult for me, like parallel parking, so I wait 8 years to try again and miss out on all that satisfaction that comes with accomplishing a small, simple task that should be easy but somehow isn't. Hmmm...

*My 2001 story is pretty similar, except I had a friend in the car with me "coaching" me through it. I ended up with a bruise on my arm from when she suddenly remembered the proper car positioning for a successful parallel park and punched me. And there was no applause that time, just angry, screeching tires. But how I remember it was 2001 is because the Diamondbacks had just won the world series and we headed to the ballpark after work to buy official MLB merchandise. You do kinda have to know how to parallel park to get anywhere in downtown Phoenix where the ballpark is. Which is why I avoid the area unless my husband is driving. And why it has been eight years. Just one more reason to hail the advent of the light rail route through the city!

What a Croc

My kids have long been fans of the Croc. I have long been a fan of the Crocs for my kids. (Well, not actual Crocs, just the knock-offs that Target sells. Because I am NOT gonna spend $29.99 for a pair of foam rubber, made in China shoes that my kids'll outgrow in 2 months.) They are easy to get on and off and eliminate a huge part of the getting-dressed-and-out-of-the-house battle every day.

I have lingered on the idea of getting some for myself, but just can't get over that I don't like the way they look on my feet. And that they are so trendy. I haven't let myself think about how comfy they might be because I didn't want to actually have a pair to claim as my own.

And then I discovered the Croc outlet and all my will power to resist is gone. Because ohmygodbuttheyaresofreakingcomfyIneverwanttotakethemoff. Ever. And it's the outlet. Most pairs are $14.99, and they are all buy-one-get-one 50% off. Which makes them only $7.50. Cheaper than the knock-offs at Target. So this weekend I replaced Dylan's worn out fakes with an actual pair, Sadie got a pair of flower-printed light blue maryjanes to add to her stash (Grandma and Poppa sent the pink pair for her birthday). And yes, I even got a pair for myself. It was all I could do to pry them off of my feet to take this picture. I'm afraid that I am ruined for real shoes for the rest of my life. My poor kids never stood a chance. They have so young been corrupted by a mom who easily succumbs to peer pressure and buys them trendy (but comfy!) shoes. At least their feet will feel really, really good.