Awkward Mom vs. Some Errands

It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be seamless. It was supposed to be a little bit of nothing. What it was supposed  to be was 3 simple errands, at a total of 2 places, to be completed in the hour before we were meeting Awesome Mom at the Children's Museum.

1. The doctor's office to pick up Super Preschooler's and Super Toddler's vaccination records.
2. The school to drop off said records.
3. The school to get 3 long-sleeve shirts and 1 pair of pants to supplement Super Kindergartner's uniform wardrobe.

It was supposed to be easy.

It wasn't easy.

Because:

1. It rained.
2. It rained like Noah's ark was gonna come floating down the street any second.
3. Boots and raincoats and umbrellas keep everyone dry except the mom who has to herd children in boots and raincoats and umbrellas to the van. Children who suddenly have all the freedom in the world to dawdle and sight-see and daydream and leap into puddles because they are wearing boots and raincoats and umbrellas.
4. It takes more than 2 hands to load an infant car seat into the van and hold an umbrella. At some point you will have to make a choice about who is going to get wet in this scenario. It isn't going to be the baby.
5. The drive from our house to the doctor's office is not long enough to dry out. Not even remotely.
6. See #3 and add a stroller.
7. It takes 15 seconds to pick up the vaccination records, which is one tenth the time it takes to unload everyone and walk in here.
8. It takes twice that to reload everyone because Super Toddler sees a water fountain and everyone suddenly needs a drink. Guess walking outside and opening one's mouth is just too hard.
9. I am so frazzled at this point that I get lost driving back through our neighborhood to the school. Take a minute for that to sink in, Readers. I got lost. In our own neighborhood.
10. Even with getting lost, it is still not a long enough drive from the doctor's office to the school to dry out.
11. See #6 and picture me trying to desperately protect the vaccination records under my shirt. No. Never mind. Don't picture that.
12. Getting buzzed into the building, opening the door with my hip, pushing in the stroller, counting the children to make sure they all get in, and dealing with umbrellas take twice as long as the entire doctor's office trip.
13. I am told to take the vaccination records down 2 hallways and down 2 flights of stairs.
14. I make it down the 2 hallways and to the first set of stairs before it occurs to me that I have a stroller.
15. I leave the children at the top of the stairs with the stroller, and all the lurking ghosts that this school must have, before booking it down both flights of stairs, slipping into a door, and stumbling into the office I am looking for.
16. The coordinator of the preschool is on the phone and mimes me to wait.
17. I mime to her that I can't and kinda throw the vaccination records at her.
18. I run back to the children, am relieved no ghosts made off with them, and work my way back to the main office.
19. Super Toddler needs a diaper change. Very badly.
20. I pull into the nearest bathroom. The one with no changing table. I change her on the floor. We are all soaking wet. This is as disgusting as you might imagine.
21. This is a grade school bathroom so the toilets are tiny with little flower-shaped toilet seats. Super Toddler demands to "go potty."
22. Since Super Toddler just "went potty" in her diaper (in quite dramatic fashion, by the way), there is no need for her to do so again on the flower-shaped elf toilet.
23. Super Toddler says she is going to sit there until she goes again.
24. I try to refute this argument with some logic.
25. I lose.
26. After about 10 minutes in the bathroom, Super Toddler produces something she deems suitable and then washes her hands for about 5 minutes. I dress her and race back to the office.
27. We ask where the uniform exchange is.
28. We are told that it is up 2 flights of stairs.
29. I haul Super Baby out of the stroller and am halfway up the stairs before the secretary says she can turn on the elevator if I want.
30. Super Toddler has developed an aversion to elevators, so I say "no, thank you."
31. I resume climbing the stairs.
32. I forgot about Super Preschooler's aversion to heights but am quickly reminded of it when he starts howling from the bottom of the stairs.
33. I go down and carry him, and Super Baby, up the stairs.
34. Super Preschooler continues to howl in anticipation of the downward trip to come.
35. Super Toddler starts loudly insisting we visit the bathrooms up here.
36. Super Kindergartner wanders into a classroom where some poor teacher is trying to set up her classroom in peace.
37. I can't find any small long-sleeved shirts.
38. Repeat #34
39. Repeat #35
40. Repeat #36
41. Repeat #37 and size 5 pants seem rare too.
42. Super Toddler finds a "secret set of stairs" she wants to explore.
43. The idea of secret stairs sets Super Preschooler into a new wave of howling.
44. I finally find some long-sleeved shirts and 1 pair of size 5 pants.
45. I pretty much run down the hallway and back down the stairs, leaving Super Preschooler and Super Toddler at the top, screaming.
46. I buckle Super Baby in the stroller, tell Super K. to guard him, race upstairs, and carry both Super P. and Super T. down.
47. I poke my head in the office door, shout thanks to the secretaries over the noise of my children, and flee.
48. The fleeing is slowed by #3.
49. I race back the house, park in the driveway, and just sit there for a second contemplating what kind of a circus we would be downtown at the Children's Museum and how close to the edge I really am.
50. I pick up my cell phone to text Awesome Mom when it rings.
51. I answer it to be confronted with the coordinator of the preschool, who has no record that my children are enrolled for the coming year. We process this for awhile until I say, "Well, they are in the preschool enrichment program." And she says, "I have nothing to do with that program." I sigh. Heavily. She hears me sigh. Heavily. She says, "Why don't I just take these to the right person, Sweetie." I thank her and hang up.
52. I look at my phone to read the text that came in while I was on the phone.
53. That text from Awesome Mom says, "Hey, it's raining. Want us to just come over instead?"
54. I text "I love you. You are Perfect" before I realize that is creepy. So, I write "Yes, that sounds great" instead.
55. The journey into the house from the van and the shedding of rain items and my saturated clothing is long enough to warrant its own post, but I am too tired to write that now because I just did 3 errands at 2 places that were supposed to be easy.

"You really think anything is ever gonna be easy again?

Oh Mommy, that's hilarious."