I Should Have Known Better

Many of you know that I am a free-lance writer for a couple of local weekly papers. It is a fun way to make a little money, learn something new everyday and get adult contact. However, today, my freelance gig was a review in parenting basics...and basically, I am still clueless.

About 10AM, I got a call from one of the editors asking if I wrote captions (aka cut lines) for some pictures I had sent him. I had, but he lost them and I forgot to send myself the email, so my work was unsaved. No big deal, he assured me, they would figure something out. I had an inkling this was a bad sign, but I had plans for a park date, the weather was glorious and out the door I went without my purse, wallet or cell phone. I should have known better, but I was sure my friend would have a cell phone in case of an emergency, so why worry?

I got home about 1:30PM and had a message on the home machine. Turns out the paper was trying to reach me. The art work was complete and I needed to rewrite the cut lines for the selected pictures. By the way, it had to be done by 5pm. Had I got the message, I could have stopped by the office (both kids were out cold), seen the page, come home and had 2 hours to write the cut lines....but alas, I wasn't worried about the phone. I called the editor and said I could come in, but I had the kids. She assured me this was no problem. I should have known better.

So, of course, today my children chose to take monster naps. All the fresh air at the park, I suppose. This forced me to break the first rule of parenting: Never wake a sleeping baby. It didn't go well for me. Finally, in desperation, I promised sparkle cookies at the grocery store after I finished my story, if they would put on their shoes. Miraculously, the bribe worked. We made it out the door and I had a coloring book, a pad of paper, crayons, my notes from the article that is in production, my purse, wallet and phone. La Nina even went to the bathroom before we left and the Magster had a fresh diaper on...I was optimistic. I should have known better.

I got to the office and headed to the editorial room to write up my 4 cutlines. A reporter and another editor were working, I said Hi, they greeted the girls. I spread out the girls' activities on the floor, settled into write and La Nina asked, "But where is my cookie?" I explained after I finished writing, we would go get a cookie. (Twenty-something reporter snorts in digust that I am using food as a bribe, but I am sympathetic. Before I had kids, frankly, even when I had just La Nina, I would have regarded my own bribes as pathetic...now it is survival.)

While I am explaining to La Nina the cookie is after the writing and drying her tears, the Magster has found a new pad of paper. Unfortunately, it is the editor's note pad...with story notes on it. Even worse, the Magster has a black crayon. Ten minutes into the appointment, I haven't written a word, and my child has destroyed someone else's story.

Finally, La Nina pipes down, the Magster is coloring on her own pad of paper and I am drafting a way, when suddenly my screen window closes. I am semi-stunned. This isn't my computer, so I have no idea what happened. I look to my right, see the ever-curious and helpful La Nina. She has her hand on the mouse. She says, "Look Mom, it's just like yours at home. See I can click it." Another window closes, and I knew the culprit. Luckily, nothing was lost except a few years from my life in the panic.

Trying to keep my cool, I finally distract La Nina and convince her to practice writing her name. She doesn't make it past the 'R'. It's the third letter. Lessons here waiting parents: Do not give your children names that have the letter 'R' in it. Do not wake a sleeping baby. Trust me on these two things. She begins crying again. Now the reporter is out right giggling at the circus I brought to town. She is trying to distract La Nina. As I write my cutlines, I am saying, "It's easy. Straight line, half circle, slant-y line. You can do it." I just need 20 more coherent words at this point, and my personal hell will end.

After an eternity, I get the job done. The editor and I start yacking about some competitor gossip, when I smell something funny. Real funny, and I don't mean funny ha-ha...this is no laughing matter. Yep, the Magster filled that clean diaper...and of all the things I remembered to bring, the diaper bag was not one of them. The editor starts laughing as I pack up the Mistress of Stink and her pouty sister who wants a cookie and is bitter about the 'R'. I have an emergency diaper in the car, but wipes... As long as the Magster doesn't sit down I should be ok, it looks like a clean little package in that diaper, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, the only luck I am having is bad luck. On the way out the door, the Magster plops down to show her new friend the reporter a boo-boo on her knee. The splat was audible.

Well, I won't go into the diaper change, we have all been there and if you haven't been there, you will be soon. Suffice to say, kids aren't real pleased to have their butts wiped with a paper towel wet with their mothers' spit. What was I thinking? If I would have just sent myself that email or taken my cell phone to the park, this whole trauma would have been avoided. I should have known better.