“And then the blue sparkle frog ate the princess shoe but it was okay because her foot wasn’t in the shoe anymore…” This is the sleep deprived jabbering of my almost four year old an hour past her bedtime. It wasn’t her fault she was still awake. I was the one who decided to uproot her bedtime schedule. I had decided to take the kids out to the family farm for the night. Jamie was working the late shift, I needed to get some columns wrote and there is just something special about the basement of my parents house when it comes to literary inspiration.
As I pieced together our day’s itinerary the idea in general was quickly becoming a no brainer. I would drop the kids off at school. Then in the few children free hours I had I would pack up some clothes, do a quick spit shine on the house and finish up some paperwork that had been lying around on the kitchen table for the last three weeks. I’d pick the babes up and from there we would go straight out to the farm. Easy peezy.
Oh how lovely it would be! The children will play gaily with the sweet kittens that live in my dad’s shop. And there we would drink hot chocolate (mine spiked with vodka) by the cozy wood burning stove. Oh and the glorious conversation we shall have over a delicious oven roasted ham! Then when it is time for bed, Granny will read the children stories and they will easily fall into dreamland- leaving me to my much anticipated writing.
Now if only things ever panned out the way we imagined them too.
I should have known things were going south when I kept getting sidetracked as I attempted to clean the house. Every time I got on a roll folding laundry or doing dishes something popped up to stop me. That damn alley cat was back on the deck and digging through the garbage again. Or somebody was at my door trying to sell me the latest and greatest vacuum cleaner. I just couldn’t catch a break.
So as I packed the car my heart was heavy with the acceptance that I would not be coming back home to a nice clean house or a finished pile of paperwork. It didn’t matter though because the outing would be worth it.
It was smooth sailing to retrieve Lars from school but as I entered the girl’s classroom I was advised by a small piece of paper that was crammed judgingly in Sophie’s cubby to go see the women in the office. My hands immediately became clammy because for some reason I assume I am in trouble…But in reality that was just my irrepressible fear of authority figures- which is another story altogether.
I get to the office and they advise me that I have somehow neglected to pay the membership fee that my daughter’s school requires. I thought I had paid it, but I pull out my cheque book and begin to sign them over some more of my hard earned cash anyways. I’ve been known for my scatter brained ways in the past, so I very possibly could have forgot this too. As I passed the cheque over one of the ladies says, “oh no never mind- our mistake, you’ve already paid.” This leaves me feeling conflicted. I’m happy that I don’t have to pay it but I am also wondering how many people I have blindly handed dough over to who didn’t actually deserve it. I should maybe look into that. One day.
We get on the road and I think, okay now we’re ready to roll. The plan is back in action. I’m beginning to feel good again as we pull into the driveway of my parents home. Again my high hopes are smashed into the oblivion of reality. Upon arrival I find out that one of the kittens are dead- Dad is in a duly grumpy mood because of this loss of cat and not to mention his appointment for dental surgery the next day. Our glorious ham dinner turns out subpar when the oven gives out and we are left with lukewarm food.
But all of this is okay because soon it will be bedtime, the most wonderful time of the day.
But once again the universe had different plans for me. Lars goes to sleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, as per usual. Soph on the other hand is a bit more difficult. First she is too bored to go to sleep. Hmm. Then she wants to say goodnight to granny and papa for the twentieth time. After that the girl who fears very little is too scared to sleep in her temporary bed.
I give in and begrudgingly say she can sleep on the couch while I write.
An hour and a half past bedtime the incoherent ramblings have stopped and a subtle snoring drifts through the air. Along with the snoring the haphazard toots of my almost four year old are wafting through the air.
So here I am, finally after a long, long, long day’s work I am ready to buckle down and get some more work done. I suppose that’s just what you get when you delve into the life of a mother-writer.
Now if only I could get the fart smell out of the air.