Super Mom with All Her Ducks in a Row
Last week was tough(er than usual).
It was Homecoming Week, so that meant themed dress up days for my students and my own kids, plus after -school events like the homecoming parade, football game, and dance.
And the rest of the world doesn’t stop just because it’s HoCo week. The boys still had homework and tests to study for; Abie still had cheerleading; and the hubster and I still had work. We had something going on every evening after school - one of which was our school system’s Teacher of the Year banquet. Since I have the honor of being our middle school’s TOTY for this school year, Jacin and I were invited to the banquet.
So Thursday afternoon rolls around and Super Mom here (that’s me) has already arranged for all three kids to be taken care of so Jacin and I can head to the banquet. (Not to brag, but I’m slaying life, at this point. As the saying goes, I’ve got all my duckies in a row.) I get home from school and have 30 minutes to freshen my makeup, curl my hair, and throw on a dress. Jacin screeches in with 15 minutes to shower and dress. Since the kids are gone and it’s just us, (and one of us is the esteemed Teacher of the Year, for crying out loud,) I’m pretty positive we can leave on time.
But then disaster strikes. Twice.
I grab my new dress from the ironing board, ready to put it on and leave, but my heart sinks when I notice several stained spots on the front of it. (Have I mentioned it’s brand new? I bought it the week before and LOVED it. And loved how I felt in it. I even washed and ironed it the night before so I could be sure it was ready. Again… ducks in a row and all that.) Apparently the spray starch I had used the day before on the collar of the dress had left some dark spots on the fabric. Like, super noticeable spots.
Usually, one of my favorite adages is “Blessed are the flexible,” but at this point I’m not feeling blessed or flexible. I have three minutes left till go time, and my (new!) dress is a no-go. I’m trying to shift from “Oh CRAP! Mode” to “Problem-Solving Mode” while Jacin asks me fifty questions about which shirt goes best with his borrowed sports coat. I yell something like, “Just pick a dang shirt!” as I hurl my new dress across the closet into the hamper.
I grab the only other dress that fits me, which happens to be one I’ve had since college. (Old Navy, black with white roses. Bleh.) I grab shoes and earrings and run out of the bedroom to take the dog out.
Pearl, our goldendoodle, trots out into the yard like she’s on parade, wagging her tail, greeting the local squirrels with a bark, and stopping to stalk a grasshopper, completely unaware that I’m already royally pissed off and in a huge hurry. She finally finds the perfect spot and squats to pee. Suddenly, mid-pee, she yelps, jumps up, and bolts back to the safety of the porch.
Here's a for-real picture of our sweet but goofy Pearl girl.
Thinking she might have stepped in an ant hill or something, I bend to inspect her back legs and tail. She’s spinning around in circles, whimpering, and dragging her butt on the ground. I can’t find any ants, so I’m pretty sure she’s either been stung (bee? wasp?) or bitten (snake… we have plenty of them out in the woods where we live.) I hike my dress up and start walking out in the yard in my heeled sandals, trying to see if I can spot a snake or a Yellow Jacket hole. (In retrospect, this was probably not very smart of me, but pissed off women in heels are ten feet tall and bulletproof, am I right?) Pearl, of course, is not about to venture back into the yard, so she continues to spin around and bark on the porch.
Right as I’m about to step into dog doo, Jacin walks out the front door and yells, “What in the world are you doing?” Several salty, smart-butt replies threaten to erupt from my mouth, but I bite them back and hurry back to the porch. At this point, a million thoughts are shooting rapid-fire through my brain:
We’ve got to go. Now!
But what do I do with golden dummy, here?
What if she did get stung by a bee or bitten by a snake?
What if she has an allergic reaction?
We have to leave. I can’t sit with her and wait this out.
She’ll be ok. She’s a dog. This is ok. It’s all ok.
But what if she dies while we’re gone? This is NOT ok.
“Benadryl. I need liquid Benadryl, please. Pearl needs it. Don’t ask. Just find it!” I bark.
Jacin, who has witnessed “Overwhelmed Wife Mode” before, follows me into the house and grabs the Benadryl. I rifle through the drawer, find a syringe, and measure out the liquid Benadryl for Pearl. Jacin straddles 70-pound Pearl and holds her mouth open. I squirt Benadryl into the back of Pearl’s mouth and stand back while she coughs and hacks and almost upchucks on the rug.
“Ok. Let’s go! Move, move, move!” Jacin yells like we’re fleeing an explosion.
We jump in the car and look at each other.
“You have dog hair all over your pants,” I point out to Jacin.
“Well, you have Benadryl on your skirt,” he responds.
We jump back out of the car, run into the house, and spontaneously combust into a wild love-making session!
Just kidding. That only happens in the movies, and this is definitely NOT the movies.
I (maybe too aggressively??) swat Jacin’s pants legs with a lint roller while he throws a wet paper towel at my skirt. We scramble back into the car and speed across town to the country club. On the way, I call our oldest and ask him to run by the house in an hour to check on the dog. Please, God, don’t let him find our dog dead.
I took a selfie so I could remember this night forever. Don't I look like I have all my ducks in a row? Super Mom, right here.
By the time we arrive at the Teacher of the Year event and rush inside, the program has already started and many are already eating. I smile, calmly apologize to my principal for our lack of punctuality, and turn to Jacin, intending to introduce him to my boss. Instead, Jacin, with a paniced look in his eyes, leans over and whispers in my ear, “Sorry, babe, but my stomach is feeling pretty iffy. I’m not sure I can make it through this.”
I sit through the remainder of the event trying to enjoy the dinner while watching Jacin out of the corner of my eye, waiting for him to bolt to the bathroom. Thanks be to God, he made it through and was able to walk (jog) to the restroom on our way out.
That night, two things happened:
Jacin experienced the first of what would become seven days of sickness and digestional misery.
I was reminded that I should NEVER. EVER. AT ANY POINT. act like I have my life together. Cause I don’t. Teacher of the Year or not, my ducks are NOT in a row. My “row” is more of a mob, and my “ducks” are more like killer squirrels.
Even on a night without three littles to wrangle, I still had trouble getting myself somewhere dressed and on time. The struggle is real. And daily. And always will be.
So, note to self, “Super Mom”: stay humble.
Remember how much you need Jesus. Every day.
And watch out for the killer squirrels.
