I Can’t Do This!

As I slowly inched closer and closer to the speaker box, at which I would place my order, I felt a drip of nervous perspiration roll off my forehead.

“Do you know what you want?” I asked my wife.
“I can’t see the menu,,” was the reply.

I could have told you that this was going to be the answer. It is always the answer. And as usual, I began thinking to myself, “How can she not know what’s on the McDonalds menu by now? Every American can quote the McDonalds menu by heart even if you don’t even eat there, some can even quote prices as well. The McDonalds menu is as old as time, penned by our forefathers shortly after the completion of The Declaration of Independence.”

But I keep these thoughts to myself, because I have learned that to verbalize them only creates an episode and prolongs the decision making process. I instead turn to my darling children and ask the same question. The answer came at me from two mouths simultaneously, making it impossible to determine who said what, but it sounded like this:

“I want a cheeseburger Happy Meal, I want a chicken nugget big kid meal, and the purple toy, with mustard sauce, no wait make it a blue toy, and root beer, but I don’t want the same toy as her, I think I want nuggets instead, and ketchup, but I already have that toy, can we go to the taco place?”

As I try to comprehend the rat’s nest of words that had just come from the back seat, I pull the car forward. It is now my turn at the speaker. My palms are sweating and I’m having trouble breathing, for I know what is about to happen.

“I’ll have the Quarter Pounder with cheese meal with a Coke and . . .”

I always say ‘and’ in a prolonged and exaggerated way, as an attempt to cue my wife to jump in with her order, but I am met only with silence as she studies the menu. I divert back to the kids, noticing that the little old lady behind me is beginning to look a little impatient.

“I also need two Happy Meals, one cheeseburger and one chicken nugget, with blue and purple toys.”
“NO, I want a red toy.”
“What to drink with those, sir?”
“Lemonades and make it a red toy.”
“I want a cheeseburger instead”
“I’m sorry, sir, we are all out of red toys.”
“Mustard sauce, dad, and I don’t like lemonade.”
“Make the nugget a cheeseburger and change the lemonade to a Coke and the red toy to a green toy.”
“I want curly fries, dad.”
“They don’t have curly fries here, Natalie.”
“I’m Hannah.”
“What was that, sir?”
“I was just telling my kid that you don’t have curly fries here.”
.” . . . We don’t have curly fries here, sir.”
“I know that, you idiot!”
.” . . Your total comes to . . .”
“WAIT! I’m not done,,” I say, turning to my wife. The little old lady behind me is now honking every ten seconds or so and my right eye has begun to twitch a bit.
“Well? . . . . .” I ask, as my voice raises a notch in intensity.
“What did I get last time?” she asked in a tone that would suggest that she was in no hurry.
“I don’t know; does it matter?”
“Can I get the Garden salad with chicken on it?”
“Can she get the Garden salad with chicken on it?”
“Yes, but we will have to charge you more,,” answered the voice on the speaker.
“Ask if I can trade the tomato for the chicken?”
“Can we trade the tomato for the chicken?”
“We’ll still have to charge extra.”
“Well then I don’t want the garden salad, tell her I need another minute.”

The little old lady behind me has gotten the whole drive through line honking and has begun throwing what appears to be Rolaids at the back of my car as, two more minutes of menu studying pass.

“Just get me a Big Mack meal and a diet.”
“Uh, I guess we’ll have the Big Mack meal with a diet and that’s it.”

Silence is coming from the speaker.

More silence is coming from the speaker.

“I’m sorry sir, but can you repeat your order?”
WHAT? REPEAT MY ORDER? I don’t think that’s possible! Sobbing, I look up to the heavens and plead, “Lord! Spare me this shame and take me now!”

I looked at my family. Their mouths were moving as they attempted to repeat their orders to me, but I couldn’t hear any words, just the sound of my labored breathing and my heart beating like a drum. The little old lady behind me was getting out of her car and walking towards me. What if she has a gun in her purse?

The speaker box was getting louder and louder, “SIR? DID YOU HEAR ME? COULD YOU REPEAT YOUR ORDER? . . . SIR? . . . SIR?”

I turned to my wife and pitifully stated, “I . . . I can’t do this.”

With smoke rolling off of the tires, I peeled out of the drive through line, bounced over the curb, across the lawn and back onto the street.

Once home I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for all despite the wailing protests and an unrelenting dirty looks from my wife. A new rule was also proclaimed as we all enjoyed our sandwiches, and that is that NO fast food trips will be made until ALL car occupants have decided and written down their orders.

I’m a Mommy! (well, I hope to be)

In an attempt to actually put some effort into promoting this blog, I have submitted my catalog of nonsense (my blog) to Top Mommy Blogs, which has a category for Daddy Blogs. If I am reading the instructions right, all one has to do is go to my “side bar” on the right and click the Top Mommy Blogs badge to vote for me. And if I am still reading the instructions correctly, getting votes even before I am approved will help me get said approval . . . . .

So help me become a Mommy and click on that link . . . . . if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.

Efficient on-the-job napping.

As a tree trimmer who sometimes works long hours, I am always on the lookout for new ways to catch up on a few minutes of sleep during the day. I discovered this method last summer.
It takes at least ten minutes for someone to notice you laying on the ground, followed by another 8 minutes of panic and deciding what they should do, and then at least 15 minutes of waiting for the ambulance to get there while everyone repeatedly yells, “DON’T MOVE HIS NECK!”.
At which point you simply stand up and announce that you were just taking a rest with a log on your head…….. A 33 minute nap.

Car designers must all be barren and without children.

There is no other conclusion I can come up with other than car designers must not have any children of their own . . . . not even one.  If they did have children, if even one car designer had one child, there would not be a large food-snotty Kleenex-sticky half eaten sucker-live amphibian-half full can of soda pocket on the back of each of the front seats . . . . Just begging for a three year old to stuff it with something that is destined to rot, stain, stick, or crawl inside of it.

I find it extremely hard to believe that not a single car designer that has children has never thought of including one of those divider bullet proof windows like taxis have to protect the driver/parent from flying food, Happy Meal toys, sippy cups and the inevitable ripping out of their hair by a car seat escapee.

So if there really is a car designer out there that actually has a child, maybe you can explain this to me: why on earth would you put a timer on the car’s dome light that makes it stay on for half a minute after I close the door? I can think of no practical use for that extra thirty seconds of light. But worse yet, there is no way with children that I can just walk away and assume that one of my girls didn’t turn on one of the interior lights, or left a door ajar . . . . . So I stand and wait for half a minute in the seven degree, thirty mile an hour winter night time wind and watch to make sure the light actually does go out.

Now none of this waiting in the freezing cold dark for a light to go off would even be necessary if you were Renaissance enough to take that same light timer technology and apply it to turning off a dome light that had been accidently left on. All it would have to do is turn off any light that had been on longer than a fifteen minute time period. But no, I stand and wait and shiver, or I take the chance that a light left on will burn all night and drain my battery, rendering it useless by morning.

Am I being unreasonable? I’m a tree trimmer, but I think I could do a better job of designing a kid friendly car!

The back seats would have no cracks and crevices that can swallow an entire large size French fry, leaving no trace other than the ketchup skid marks made by the condiment soaked fries as they slid into oblivion.

There wouldn’t be a stitch of cloth, carpeting, or any other material that couldn’t withstand a constant flow of soda, snot, vomit, melted ice cream, and any poop that had escaped the confines of the diaper that it had been birthed into.

And no back windows. Children don’t need windows. They just end up being impossible to actually see through due to the layers of fingerprints and yogurt smears. Besides, we just end up buying one of those suction cup window shades and covering Themis anyhow to keep our darling cherubs from sizzling like bacon in the window magnified sun light.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just being whiner. But to find out if it’s just me, I suggest that one of these fancy car designers volunteers to drive my girls around for a week or so. Then we’ll see if there are any  child friendly design changes worked into the next years cars or not.

Flattapuss Blog Picks.

Each Week, I consult with my cat Cee-Cee (Flattapuss) and we decide on a few blogs to throw out for your consideration. Some I just stumble upon, while others have actually found my blog which then lead me to their own site.

This week’s Flattapuss Blog Picks are:

Problems with Infinity caught my eye and soon had me chuckling as I read through a few posts.

Crusty Pie takes old black and white photos and captions them . . . . Quite well, might I add.

Mom of 1 and 10 who’s stories remind me of way back when my own girls were just little persons.

And finally there is Fear of the Reaper who never fails to make me smile when I visit.

Check them out and give them a like or a follow if they scratch your itch!

 

Coffee can signal the difference between a good day and a bad day.

This morning, I woke and stumbled into the kitchen semi-consciously. I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and put it in the Keurig under the little spout and hit the brew button. As the machine began brewing my cup of motivation, I went into the bathroom for my morning sit on the throne. 

The wonderful smell of coffee came floating into the bathroom and seemed more vivid than usual, probably as a sign that it would be a good day.

When I finished my bathroom business, I returned to the kitchen. The smell of coffee was VERY strong now, unusually strong.

Much to my surprise, I found the reason for the unusually strong coffee smell was due to the fact that coffee was all over the counter and in a puddle on the floor . . . . I had put the mug in the Keurig upside-down . . . .  Probably as a sign that it would be a bad day.