What a gray day.
Sleep-deprived from the instant I heard the alarm. (Derek Webb's "Mockingbird" is a lot less lovely at 6:30 a.m.)
Kevin wasn't feeling well. The rain was steady and the clouds blocked the sun from showing even a hint of itself.
I should have stayed in bed.
Or at least stayed home.
But the fridge was empty. And had been for two days. No, I don't just mean that we were out of milk - which we were. I mean - we needed groceries. As in, I saw Riley packing her lunch last night and she was cutting open some old MREs from my brother the Marine and she was stashing odd combinations into her lunch bag. (I fear for her health.) I think for breakfast she ate her own fingertips, but I'm not sure about that.
I fed Wilder and put him back down for his morning nap (all the while being uncontrollably jealous of the life of an eight month old). He and Kevin could stay home together. And then I gathered the other four and added shoes or hats or jackets where they were lacking. We sloshed through the wet, slushy snow remains through the pelting rain. I strongly dislike (hate is such a heavy word) loading kids into the Suburban when it's raining. They have to climb over one another and multiple car seats to reach the back row, which means that several kids end up with wet and/or muddy bums from their siblings' feet.
The Suburban was making most concerning sounds and as I sloshed out of the driveway I was pretty sure that it was not shifting properly. I called Kevin, you know - like two minutes after I had just left him.
"Uh. The Suburban isn't shifting properly," I said. (That was my professional opinion.)
"Is it still in four wheel drive?" he calmly inquired.
I looked down. Yes. "Yes, it is."
I had to make a stop at our bank so I decided to include Whole Foods in my plans, if I was already driving that far.
At the bank I waited for the check to be deposited and the cashier asked me for my debit card. And as I reached for my red bag, my stomach sank a bit. Suddenly I was pretty positive that my wallet was in my green bag. Oh Stink.
No debit card. No ID.
I quickly asked for cash so I could still redeem this trip and go to the grocery store anyway.
The cashier politely refused to give me any cash without my ID.
Plan B, I figure. I'll just write a check at the store. But wait - who will accept a check without an ID? Oh yeah - no one.
Okay. Okay. I'll just run by the ATM and get cash to buy the groceries. Guess what you need to get your cash? A debit card. Of course. What in the world was I thinking?
And so I did what I do sometimes.
Sitting in the suburban. In the rain. In the bank parking lot. I cried.
Because sometimes I cry over seemingly unimportant things. Like spilled milk. And Magnus eating my pizza dough. And forgotten wallets.
And then I turned around and drove all the way back home. Through the rain. Windshield wipers flip flapping.
I unpacked the kids. Sloshed back into the house. Told Kevin my sad story. Received sympathy. We fed kids some half peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the heels. (If you turn the heel inside, the kids never know it's the end. Shhh. That's just between us, okay?)
After lunch I put Piper and Fox down for naps and London and Mosely stayed home for their math tutoring with Laura (a bright spot in their day twice a week) and Bergen and I headed back to the wet Suburban - wallet in hand.
By the time we finally arrived back home it was past time to eat and Kevin was heading out the door to his art class (like two ships passing in the night). I strongly dislike (hate is such a heavy word) that moment when you arrive home from a store, crushed under the weight of your plastic bags (or reusable ones, that's what I meant), to realize that you have nothing in mind for dinner.
Really. This day seems mostly a drag. (In fact, I apologize to you for recording it all. What was I thinking?)
Maybe TV can redeem it. I have high hopes for you Lost, high hopes.