Bank Trip

I had to go into the bank one day because they had, like, two tellers in the whole place running both the drive-through and the counter. I originally started in the drive-through, but I had to leave (after I sent my money through the vortex-teleportation device, of course). I was going to be late to pick up Nora (I seriously sat there in my car by the vortex-teleportation device for 20 minutes after being greeted once).

Never would I attempt to go into a bank with what I've got going on these days, but I did this, very nearly, to prove a point. What was my point? You do not want me to come inside your bank, so you'd better tell me that my money is okay, like, pronto.

I'm hoping they learned their lesson. This was not a surprise scene for me, but that doesn't make it any less annoying.

Oh, Forget About It!

Making appointments or simple phone calls is pretty much impossible these days.

I don't know what it is about me being on the phone that makes my kids freak out and need me right then. I try and sneak away from them to make a call (you know, if they're, like, engrossed in a snack or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or something), and without fail, they always find me and choose that moment to want to play, to complain about their attire, or to projectile vomit. It's uncanny.


I especially can't just answer the phone and expect to have a normal conversation without experiencing something similar to these scenes.

Also, for some reason, any time the phone rings, I'm elbows deep in a dirty diaper either here:


Or, here:


(I'm spraying out a dirty diaper in the toilet, here, in case you're curious.)

So, if you're wondering why I never seem to call (or answer the phone), wonder no more. And, you're welcome.

Doctor's Office

Ever since I was, like, 12 months pregnant with my youngest, going to the doctor started to get really challenging. In fact, I tried everything at my disposal to try and dump at least one kid off so I could go to my OB appointments close to solo. It didn't always happen.

After my baby was born, something happened. Doctor appointments got worse. My 3.5-year-old (daughter) turned into a two-year-old, and my two-year-old (son) was the dominant influence. I attempted one appointment (for the baby) with the two of them in tow. Never again. Here's a scene from that:

Note how my hair has fly-aways. That's going to be a common theme in this blog. Also, note how my older son is mopping the floor with his body, and my daughter is clearing out the cobwebs behind the examination table with her rear end. They should've probably paid us for the housekeeping. Or not. There's some spilled juice and crackers (crumbled and not) on the floor, so . . . yeah.

This picture doesn't really show how ridiculously loud it was in the room. I'm not really sure how to depict that properly. Just imagine lots of screaming and interruptions every time the doctor tries to talk. Also, imagine me going to my happy place inside my head.