I am exhausted, overwhelmed and apt to collapse in a puddle of tears and slime in response to a seemingly benign stimulus. But no one wants to read about that. It’s not funny. To cope with my fragile state I did what any other barely treading water mother of two toddlers does . . . I took the rugrats to the zoo!
Everyone and their brother decided today would be a fantastic day to view animals, probably because the moment we stepped out of the car we didn’t melt into a lump of sweaty meatloaf for the first day in weeks. Needless to say it was packed. Sweet little Rosie no longer wants to be strapped into her stroller but wants to get out and “play.” Imagine if you will, a 3 year old running running running, an 18 month old running running running in the opposite direction and one tired momma running running running in between and shouting random commands. I was either very entertaining to watch or very annoying and frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. My kids were having a great time, and I was earning my third coke of the day.
As luck would have it, we happened upon a live animal show just in time to get a great seat a couple rows from the stage. All seemed to be going well until a mother of two delightfully behaved school aged girls turned around and said with a snarl, “He is kicking us.” Sure enough The Kraken, bored from the three minute wait, was in his own little world singing and dancing and consequently kicking the family in front of us. I scolded him, threatened to leave if he couldn’t sit still and made him sing the “Patience” song, which he did and considered the situation handled. The woman however would huff and puff or turn and glare every time my son wiggled a bit too close to her blond beauties. I began to sing the “Patience” song to myself.
As the show began we were warned not to stand or get out of our seats for any reason for the safety of ourselves and the animals. Unfortunately, about 10 minutes in my son’s bladder decided to defy the aforementioned rule. Emergency! Now I am not a rule breaker, but I am also not about to ask a three year old to hold it. Who knows how many of us would be sprayed with urine at the end of that experiment. I quickly collected my brood and headed for the exit. On the way I caught the eye of the ever judging mother in front of us. She was not shooting me a supportive “been there, done that” smirk, but rather a “you are a terrible mother” sneer. And I nearly snapped her nose off but simply smiled and moved on.
This confrontation has convinced me that I need business cards. It could house my name, number and a cute little picture of me and my two out of control chicklets. I figure this way in about 7 years, when those two angels of hers have hormones raging through every pore and are ripping her apart as only preteen girls are capable, she can call me up and apologize for being such a jerk that one day when my son had the wiggles. Apology accepted.
Or maybe I should have just let The Kraken pee on her.
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