On Friday night, all I wanted was to order a nice pizza for dinner. After a long week, the last thing I felt like doing was taking my two hungry kids to the grocery store when our pantry was bare. So, I navigated to Firetrail Pizza’s website to find their delivery number. Honestly, I should have taken the hint from the name. I got disconnected and rerouted twice before finally reaching someone. Turns out, the number I found was for a brewery, not a pizzeria. In hindsight, maybe I should have accepted that gift from the universe—a cold beer. But alas, I was starving…
As I placed my order for a pear-gorgonzola pizza, my daughter, Mia, started crying. I picked her up, she calmed down, but as soon as I put her down, the wailing resumed. The person on the line sounded frustrated. I was determined to get my pizza, so I locked myself in the bedroom to finalize the order. It felt like I was caged in, anxious that I might have accidentally ordered something dreadful, like olives. Ugh, I really can’t stand olives.
Twenty minutes turned into forty, and before I knew it, an hour had passed. My family was growing increasingly hangry. I tapped my fingers on the counter and paced. Finally, I called the delivery driver only to find out they had no record of my order. It was bedtime, and I needed a quick solution or I might lose my sanity.
So, I placed an order for Thai food instead. A scathing Yelp review on the pizza place was definitely in my future. After nearly three hours from my initial call, we finally ate. Where’s my dinner? Who am I kidding? I’ll just have wine tonight. I could have sworn my glass was right here. But it could always be worse.
On Saturday, my grumpy, teething toddler decided to forgo breakfast in favor of clinging to me like a baby koala and sobbing in my ear. I definitely needed more coffee. My five-year-old, Ava, managed to sit in maple syrup while wearing her ballet outfit, and as a result, we were late to her dance class. She didn’t change, and her backside had a lovely brown stain.
We arrived 15 minutes late, and when Ava opened her dance bag, she realized she’d forgotten her tap shoes. But the show must go on! She danced without them, sticky and all, while I snuck off to the coffee shop down the street with my toddler to grab a much-needed latte.
At the cafe, I set Mia down at my feet and placed my order. The fantastic barista began crafting my latte as I slid my credit card into the reader. I took a sip, only to have the cashier inform me, “Your card is declined.” I hastily tried my debit card, sending up a silent prayer. I needed that coffee after the chaos of last night and the morning. My paycheck had just hit my account; there was no reason for my card to be declined.
I stepped aside to call my bank, watching the precious latte. Mia began pulling at my pant leg, tears streaming down her cheeks. As I turned to soothe her, my keys and credit card slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. I considered throwing a tantrum myself, but I bent down to gather my things when I heard a tear and felt a draft. The entire coffee shop now had an unobstructed view of my floral underwear! But I was determined not to leave without my coffee. I shuffled to the wall and made my way to the barista, imagining Ava waiting for her now-late mom.
When I finally arrived at the ballet studio, the teacher looked confused as I moonwalked to the car, trying to hide my embarrassment. I should’ve just stayed home, but the show must go on!
Later that day, we had a swim lesson and a birthday party to attend. At the pool, Ava decided to ignore the teacher’s instructions and just sit on the ledge. I watched the money I spent on swim lessons float away. Thankfully, Ava apologized to her swim teacher and completed the lesson. We stepped outside into the sunlight, thinking maybe things would turn around.
After swim lessons, we headed to Target to find a birthday gift. We got back in the car and set the GPS for the party. When we arrived at Lucy’s house, it was empty. We knocked and rang the bell, but a construction worker informed us that Lucy and her family weren’t home. Wrong party. Wrong day. I nearly cried. Mia started babbling and whining, her voice inching toward a wail because she needed a nap. The actual party was at least 20 minutes away. We could still make it, even if I didn’t know any of the parents.
We showed up 35 minutes late to Jake’s birthday party. I had no idea why I thought we should go or what I was hoping to salvage. Oh, did I mention it was Halloween-themed? We definitely stood out—social anxiety at its finest.
On Sunday, I finally took Ava to the right birthday party, bringing the correct gift. It was a scorching 90 degrees, and Mia looked like she was melting. Instead of enjoying the party, she had a meltdown and clung to the floor. We left early.
Back home, there still weren’t any groceries. We drove to grab our bags, but Mia fell asleep in the car. I carried her to her room, where she took a three-hour nap while my stomach growled. I was starving.
When my grumpy toddler finally woke up, I attempted to get her back in the car for groceries, but she refused and threw a tantrum in the driveway. I considered having one myself.
On Monday, I dropped Ava at dance camp, counting my blessings—at least she didn’t have a brown stain on her outfit this time. As I walked back to my car, I tugged on the handle only to discover it was locked. I’d left my keys in Ava’s dance bag.
Reluctantly, I went back into the building and interrupted her class as I rummaged through her bag for my keys. Twenty pairs of eyes were on me as I dashed out. I didn’t want to be late for work.
That’s when it hit me: I had also left my phone in her dance bag. Maybe I really needed another cup of coffee. My mind felt scrambled. This was turning into a terrible case of the Mondays. I figured I’d grab my phone later.
A few hours later, after a work meeting, I picked up Ava to take her to daycare. She quickly changed in the backseat, and I set my phone on top of the car. Huge mistake.
As I drove away, I heard a loud SWISH and then a THUNK. It wasn’t until I arrived at the office that I realized my phone had fallen off somewhere on the streets of Petaluma. Petaluma, I hope you enjoy that expensive gift. You must’ve needed it more than I did. At least you didn’t take my wine. Or my latte.
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Summary
This chaotic weekend filled with mishaps and surprises showcases the unpredictable nature of parenting. From struggling with dinner orders to navigating dance classes and birthday parties, the author humorously details the ups and downs of family life. Despite the challenges, there’s a sense of resilience and a reminder to embrace the chaos.
Keyphrase: weekend parenting disaster
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