Being a Mom

Oh. My. Dear. Jesus. +

There is no way I should be telling you this, but I don't think I can keep it to myself. This is a story about how all of the things that you think can go wrong go wrong but then another layer of million things go wrong.  And also it's so nice it didn't happen to you. This time.  I was thinking the whole time, maybe this is so unfortunate, I should just fughettaboutit.  But then I was like, oh my effing G.

Here we go.

Let's take the kids to the Y for some extra curricular fun what have you.  School bus screeches to a halt, ejects two blonde pez dispensing little guys who are alll

WhycantIhavethewhatshesgot so on.  And I am like, Heyyyyy guys, how was your day?  Let's burn off some energy at the good ol' Y!  Off the three of us go.  You would think since baby stayed home, we might have an easy time of it!  Ted's plan is to swim, and Helen's to play in the active center. Mama wants to work out.

We arrive around fiver.  Walking to the door, Helen realizes she is wearing flip flops and not sneakers. So she doesn't have socks to enjoy the Active Center (that's their rule).  Oh well, she will sit at the arts and crafts table, okay.  Towards the check-in, Ted realizes he doesn't have his keys/ID card which he ALWAYS HAS.  No matter mom's got her's....where are they?  Why is my purse so freaking big?  Holy Sh*t is that a bonsai tree in there? In front of check in, dump whole purse out only to realize... keys must have fallen into the car somewhere.

Kids stay with random purse clutter (letter from old college roommate, plastic fake baby lipstick, bonsai tree, half a ham sandwich, one tennis ball, whatever) while mom runs out to car.  Got keys back to the counter check in. Phew.  Start walking to pool, mom puts things back into purse, where is my phone?  Is phone back by where purse was dumped?  Did I not bring phone?  Here is a cell phone.  It is not mine. It is H and T's.  The battery is dead.  For fleeting moment I am so happy the Y has charging stations for phones, and I am relieved that I will not be cut off from the world when Armageddon or a Kohl's clearance sale strikes.  Hoppity hop to pool with the kiddos, Helen stops.  "Are you going to drop me at the arts and crafts table?"  Of course, let's get Ted settled in the pool.

"But you have to stay on the platform with him at the pool once he is in the water."  Oh right.  Okay, let's get Helen to the arts and crafts table first.  I remember, "Hey, there is a bathing suit of yours in the back of the car."  Helen turns into a streak of smoke as she flies out the door to get swimsuit.

I go over to the charging stations to charge dead cell phone. For the first time in history, they are all occupied.  I begin to laugh, and Teddy's little voice comes at me: " Mommy, I am all ready for the pool."  And I look at my sweet boy. He has done everything right. He has his swimsuit on, he has his goggles, his flip flops and two towels and he says, "Let's go!."

Now, Blog, I don't want to get too personal here. Even though we have already crossed that line eons ago.  But every woman has a special time of month.  Mine decided to showcase itself at this moment. I was wearing sweatpants that were faded to almost white.  I was unprepared for this. Yes my purse has everything UN useful.  A ham sandwich, while delicious, is not going to help me out here. I am thinking, there has to be something in the car because there was at least nineteen pairs of leggings in the trunk last time I checked.  It was like I was bootleg-selling them or something.

Okay, Ted, gets settled at the pool, I run out to car.  Nothing.  In some poorly timed sporadic cleaning move, all the pants that had been there minutes ago are not there.  Of course there are seven hundred and ninety two tank tops. And diapers.  Jesus.

Do I love my children?  Oh yes I do.  That's right.  So the diaper goes on and I still have the problem of my very noticeable pants.  I actually contemplate trying on my seven year old's jean shorts or Helen's sweatshorts -- anything.  I am not that skinny. Bloggy.  (Thank god) I spend about ten minutes in the handicapped stall washing my pants in the sink whilst wearing my two year old's diaper.  Put on wet but clean pants and jet out to the pool.  Helen and Teddy are swimming happily.  Well, that's nice.

As it turns out, Zumba class had started and a Body Combat class was about to start.  I really, really needed to exercise.  I consider taking this Body Combat Class wearing a diaper and decided, yes absolutely can do. Have been through much worse.

There is a lifeguard stationed at every two centimeters around the perimeter of the pool.  I say, "Is it okay if I go upstairs and take a class while my kids swim?"   This guy, who is about 8 years old and thrilled that he has the underarm hair and the power of a whistle around his neck says, "Unfortunately, no."  You have to stay here.  Hmmmm.

Okay I am going to go get some water.  I deserve water, at least, Blog, right?  So I get my water and of course I peek in to the Body Combat Class which turns into me taking a spot right up front thinking, eh... it should be fine.  As we know I have some trouble with the rules.  But then I get this feeling.  (I am wearing a diaper, of course).  That I will get kicked out of the Y by an 8 year old life guard so I should hustle my a$$ to the pool immediately, and wouldn't you know?

The embryo lifeguard has H and T pulled out of the pool waiting for me on the sides.  He flexes his muscles. I'm here, I'm here.  Diaper and all.  So I sit and they swim.  Helen comes up to me and says, "Are you okay?  You look sad."  And I reply, " Oh no, I am fine. I just missed my class."  And she gives me this big, wet hug and just says, "Thank you, mom."

Totally worth it.

Until of course they are out of the pool and on their way to the car.  "Can we have snacks from the vending machine? PLEEEEASE??  You never let us get snacks from the vending machine."

 Kill.