Last Friday, after a long week, I was craving a pizza for dinner. My pantry was bare, and the last thing I wanted to do was wrangle two hungry kids into the car for a grocery run. So, I decided to check Firetrail Pizza’s website for their delivery number. From the name alone, I should’ve guessed I was in for trouble. After being disconnected and rerouted twice, I finally got through, only to realize the number listed was for a brewery, not a pizza place. At that point, I should’ve embraced the universe’s hint—a beer sounds nice—but I was still hungry.
As I placed my order for a pear-gorgonzola pizza, my daughter, Mia, started to cry. I picked her up, and she stopped. I put her down, and the wailing resumed. The person on the line was clearly annoyed. Desperate for pizza, I retreated to the bedroom to finish my order, feeling like a prisoner. The thought of accidentally ordering olives made me anxious.
Twenty minutes turned into forty, and soon enough, it was an hour without pizza. My family was getting grumpier by the minute. Finally, I called the delivery driver, only to find out they had no record of my order. Bedtime was looming, and I had to act fast or risk losing my sanity. I ended up ordering Thai food instead, leaving me with a scathing Yelp review for Firetrail Pizza. Our meal arrived nearly three hours after my first call. Dinner? I thought it might just be a wine kind of night. At least it could be worse.
Saturday Struggles
Saturday was no better. My cranky, teething toddler decided to skip breakfast in favor of clinging to me and crying. I was in dire need of more coffee—preferably with silence. My five-year-old, Zoe, managed to sit in maple syrup while wearing her ballet leotard, leaving a lovely brown stain.
We arrived fifteen minutes late to dance class, and upon opening her bag, Zoe realized she forgot her tap shoes. The show must go on. I took my toddler to a nearby café to grab a desperately needed latte. As I ordered, I placed my daughter at my feet. The barista crafted my drink, and as I paid, my card was declined. I was baffled—my paycheck had just been deposited.
Trying to keep my cool, I stepped aside to call my bank while Bee began to cry. As I turned to comfort her, my keys and card slipped from my hands and fell to the floor. In a moment of sheer embarrassment, I bent down to gather my belongings when I heard a rip—I had just exposed my floral underwear to the entire café. No way was I leaving without that latte. I scooted to the wall, grabbed my drink, and imagined Zoe’s face as she waited for her way-late mother.
When I finally made it back to the ballet studio, the teacher looked at me with sheer confusion as I moonwalked to my car, trying to hide my embarrassment. I should’ve known better than to leave the house again, but we had a swim lesson and a birthday party planned for the day.
At the pool, Zoe ignored the teacher’s instructions and ended up sitting on the ledge instead of swimming. I thought about how my money was going down the drain. After an apology to her swim teacher, she finally joined the lesson, and we basked in the sunshine—maybe things were turning around.
Next, we headed to Target for a birthday gift. Upon arriving at the party, we discovered we were at the wrong house with a bunch of construction workers. A worker informed us that the family wasn’t home. Wrong party, wrong day. Bee began to whine as she needed a nap, and I nearly broke down in tears.
Determined, we set off to the right party, but amidst the chaos, Zoe vanished in the store. I frantically searched for her while Bee tried to escape the shopping cart. My heart raced as I imagined the worst. Thankfully, ten minutes later, Zoe appeared with a book, as if nothing had happened. Furious, I lectured her, paid for the gift, and off we went—nearly two hours late to Jake’s birthday party. To top it off, it was a Halloween-themed party, and we were dressed like we just came from a sauna.
Sunday and Beyond
On Sunday, I managed to take Zoe to the correct birthday party with the right gift. It was sweltering, and Bee melted down on the floor. We left early, and upon returning home, I realized we still had no groceries. When I attempted to take Bee for groceries, she threw a tantrum in the driveway. I considered joining in.
Monday rolled around, and I dropped Zoe at dance camp, grateful at least she didn’t have a syrup stain on her leotard. As I walked back to my car, I found it locked—my keys were still in Zoe’s dance bag. I had to interrupt her class to retrieve them, with everyone staring at me as I rummaged through her bag.
Finally, I got back to my car and drove off, only to realize I left my phone in the bag, too. Just great. My phone was now homeless somewhere on the streets of town. Petaluma, I hope you enjoy that gift. At least they didn’t take my wine or latte.
If you’re looking for tips on navigating these challenges, you might want to check out one of our other blog posts here. For those interested in home insemination, Cryobaby is an excellent resource. Another great site for pregnancy and home insemination information is Progyny.
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In summary, my weekend was a chaotic whirlwind of missed orders, tantrums, and embarrassing moments. Despite the madness, I managed to keep my sense of humor. After all, it could always be worse.