Forgotten Sleep

I think I can categorically say that God’s greatest gift to parents is grandparents. And, perhaps, in some way, being that gift to parents is God’s way of rewarding grandparents for not locking their progeny in the closet when they desperately wanted to. Food for thought.

But I mention this because Loving Husband and I have been in need of a substantial break from our own little ones for quite a while. Thanks to my parents, we are now in the midst of a four-day holiday in our own house. Yesterday evening, we met my parents halfway between our respective homes and did the kiddo swap-off.

The trip, exciting as it was, was truly absurd.

Once we were all in the car, Loving Husband looked at me and said, “And, how do we get to [the highway] from here?”

Me: “Are you seriously asking me that? Because we’ve done this drive dozens of times.”

Turns out he was serious. This became equally as evident when he asked me what the exit number was for our switch to another highway. There is no exit — they merge. At this point, I’m beginning to wonder if I should be the one behind the wheel of the car.

So, we’re driving, the kids are making tons of non-human noises. Big Girl wants a new book every five minutes, and Little Man decides that now, when there’s no way that Mommy can legally and safely turn around in the car, is the perfect time to play Gravity. Down goes the Binky. WAAAAAAHHHHHH! Out come my arms from the seat belt, I twist myself around, launch myself toward the back of our van, nearly puncture the leather seating with my kitten heel, rub my hair against the seats (sending a thousand individual hairs into static electricity shock), and I grab the Binky. At this point, I do not care that Binky landed next to the errant, forgotten french fry from who knows how long ago! Repeat this action about 20 times, and you get the picture.

Suddenly, I experienced one of those Mommy moments where you know that something is dreadfully wrong. But, with both of my kids tucked safely behind me in their car seats, I knew that it had to be something else. Thunderstruck, I looked at the gas gauge. Yep, that’s it. Plain as day, I see the little yellow light telling me that if we don’t haul ourselves to the gas station post haste, we’re going to be camping on the side of the road, hoping that Little Man doesn’t decide that he’s sick of graham cracker snacks!

“Ummm, honey, we need to stop for gas!!!”

“What? Oh my God! Okay.”

At this point, the sheer ridiculousness of our situation is starting to overwhelm me, and I fall into a fit of giggles. Loving Husband, I believe, thinks I’m laughing at him (which I am, slightly).

“You know, you’re the one that drives this car all the time. I can’t be responsible for watching how much gas you have all the time!”

At this point, that just makes me laugh harder —

“True! But, I’d like to think that if I were getting into a car to drive a long distance that I would check the gas gauge just to be sure.” giggle, giggle

So, we get back on the road, and we’re driving to our destination. Big Girl busied herself trying to shove her feet into the arms of her coat, and Little Man finally decided that he wanted to zone out and stare at the scenery passing by. Every now and then, they’d erupt with some type of crisis. Big Girl’s foot was stuck, Little Man couldn’t get his sippy cup…on and on and on.

Finally, we arrived at the appointed exit at the appointed time. The directions to the restaurant where we were supposed to meet my parents were a tad unclear. So, Loving Husband and I erupted into a snippy little argument about where to turn, how far to go down the road, etc. Isn’t it amazing how the closer you get to having someone take the awesome weight of responsibility away from you, the more frantic and high-strung you get? Happens every time, right?

When we turn into the parking lot and see my parents van, Big Girl does her own little happy dance in her car seat. Both kids were so excited to see their grandparents, and we started transferring everything to their car. Car seats — check. Milk bottles — check. Toys — check. DVD player — check.

Then, Loving Husband got a look of sheer terror on his face.

“Oh God, did I forget to pack the suitcases with their CLOTHES?!”

At this point, I just wanted smack my head against the side of the car. Their clothes, their toothbrushes, their books, Big Girl’s baby dolls, their monitors, their underwear, their pajamas — all in two nicely, neatly packed suitcases that were serenely sitting in the middle of my living room floor.

Sigh

And, then, I heard myself laughing — uncontrollably. At that point, there was nothing left to do. Nothing that could be done to the fact that my children would possibly be wearing the same clothes for five days. That Big Girl didn’t have any story books for bed time. Oh well…

So, my hat’s off to the grandparents of the world who will step in an take over when the parental life has just become a comedy of errors!