One of those days

Ever have one of those days?

When construction detours on your commute home from work actually lead to nowhere? When wind advisories and severe storm warnings slow traffic to a crawl? And when you finally arrive at your daughter’s nursery school she breaks into a big smile and toddles into your arms — only to spot a banana in her cubby and melt into a puddle on the floor when she can’t have it?

Ever have one of those days?

And even though dinner (whatever it turns out to be) will be served in a half-hour, you hand her the banana to avoid the meltdown just so you can get out of there?

But instead of happily walking out, toting the intact banana (as you’d hoped she’d be happy to do), she stands, immobilized with sadness, banana in her little paws, tears welling in her big brown eyes, crying, “Na…….na, na…….na”?

Ever have one of those days?

In defeat, you peel the stinkin’ banana, hand it back to her and head out the door, at least relieved to finally be on your way.

But as you lean over to buckle in the Happy Girl With Nana Breath, fierce winds hurl her school bag from the trunk of your car some five feet away, into the dark, wet parking lot?

And it just so happens that as the bag sails by the window you notice a sippy cup fly out of the bag and roll under — waaaay under — the minivan parked next to you.

Ever have one of those days?

So you consider your options and lock up the car, only to have Banana Girl start to cry again because she thinks you’ve abandoned her — when in reality you’re mere feet away, fetching a bag and trying to squat low, crawl gracefully and reach as far as your five-foot frame will allow under the minivan to the freakin’ sippy cup that now mocks you.

Wind whipping hair into your eyes, you hurry back to the little one in the backseat, open the door and explain that you’re right there and you’d never, ever leave her — but she’s too young to understand and her crying is so fierce now (and you are so exhausted) that you begin giving her whatever’s in the backseat to calm her down.

Ever have one of those days?

And as you stand there weighing just how much trouble a sippy cup is worth, you see that what’s caught your daughter’s interest is a brand-new box of tissues — and you don’t even care that she’s pulling them out one by one, wiping her little nose, crumpling the tissue up, handing it to you for proper disposal and then clapping at how nicely she’s cleaned her face.

You don’t care because you’re busy eyeing every parent leaving the building, waiting for Minivan Man to come and remove his automobile from atop your child’s watered-down juice.

And you wait. And wait. And you make a mental note to buy more tissues.

And then he comes! And you want to glare at him because surely this is his fault. But you don’t, because it’s not.

Instead, you let your little one wipe your nose with one of her balled-up, used tissues. And you laugh. And she claps.

(And you vow that’s the last time for a long time you’ll stray from the routine and suggest to your husband that you’ll pick the baby up instead.)


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Filed under Children, Family, Husbands, Parenting

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