Last Saturday, I woke up filled with excitement, eager to finally enjoy a relaxing day with my kids. They were all home—my son was off work, and they didn’t need to go to their dad’s until later. I thought it would be a lovely treat to indulge in some Christmas cookies I baked and take the kids out for lunch.
As I stood under the warm shower, lost in my thoughts, my oldest son popped his head in to tell me he was heading to the store for more gas for the snowblower. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, a feeling that’s become rare since the divorce. It’s fleeting, usually lasting about a day, so I was soaking it in while I could. Deciding it was the perfect day for a deep-conditioning treatment, I slathered some delightful-smelling product in my hair and continued enjoying my moment of bliss.
But that bliss lasted only a moment before my youngest burst into the bathroom, panicking and claiming his brother had accidentally hit one of our cherished pet ducks and that we needed to rush to the vet.
Now, my youngest is quite the jokester and often says outrageous things to get a reaction from me, so at first, I thought he was just messing around. But when I peeked out and saw him in tears, I knew it was serious. I quickly jumped out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and dashed outside with my second child, who was sobbing.
Standing in the driveway, I felt like an extra from a slapstick comedy. I was wearing a tiny robe, tall fuzzy boots, and my wet hair was a sight to behold. There were feathers scattered everywhere, my son’s truck was still idling, and to my left lay our poor duck, lifeless. We stood there in the cold, crying together for what felt like an eternity.
Once we managed to come back inside and regain our composure, we faced the task of defeathering, which only made the kids sob harder. My son was devastated—it was an accident, and he wished he could undo it. After a small funeral for our feathered friend, I was freezing and decided to convince the kids to go out for lunch anyway. “Getting out of the house will help us feel better, and we can start looking for a new duck while we eat,” I suggested. They reluctantly agreed, and off we went to our favorite fast-food spot, where I stress-ate my fries and theirs.
After about an hour of chatting, it was time to drop the kids off with their dad. We had resolved to adopt a new duck since our surviving one was bonded with her sibling, which meant I had quite a bit of work ahead of me while they were gone, along with finishing my holiday shopping and wrapping without them snooping.
On my drive home, I suddenly felt a wave of discomfort. Oh no, I thought, clenching the steering wheel as I drove faster. Why did I eat so many fries? As panic started to set in, my daughter’s name popped up on my phone. I hesitated but answered, and she reminded me that she had left her retainers wrapped in a napkin in the center console. “You didn’t throw them away, did you?” she asked. Well, I had. I recalled grabbing the trash before leaving and stuffing that napkin right in the bag.
In that moment, I knew what I had to do: I had to return to the fast-food place and dig through the trash. Some might leave the retainers behind and buy new ones, but not a single mother of three—no way! I pulled a sharp turn in the parking lot, my stomach churning as I approached the trash can.
I dove into that trash can without hesitation. I found the bag but knew I couldn’t wait to sift through it. My pressing need to relieve myself was far more urgent. I donned my mask and dashed into the nearly empty dining area, clutching the very used bag, and made a beeline for the restroom.
Just as I thought I was in the clear, I discovered there was no toilet paper left! Determined, I didn’t even bother pulling my leggings up as I bolted to another stall, only to find it was out of toilet paper too. I considered my options: I could wash my hands and ask one of the two men behind the counter for help, but I was too embarrassed. Instead, I rummaged through my purse for extra masks and, after using them in a pinch, I hurried home to devour a dozen cookies.
Yes, we all survived that chaotic day, but the moral is: sometimes a day can go completely off the rails without anything truly catastrophic happening. It can just be one of those rough days that leaves you feeling drained for weeks. After all that craziness, I still haven’t fully recovered my nerves or my composure.
If you’re interested in similar stories, you might want to check out this blog post here. For anyone looking into fertility options, the resource from Make a Mom is a fantastic place to start. Additionally, March of Dimes offers excellent support when considering fertility treatments.
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Summary
This narrative recounts a challenging day in the life of a single mother juggling parenting and unexpected mishaps. From losing a beloved pet to a frantic race against nature, the story illustrates the humor and chaos inherent in family life. Ultimately, it reminds us that even the toughest days can pass with a little resilience and a lot of cookies.
Keyphrase: Terrible day in parenting
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