I need to share the ridiculous day I had yesterday.
It started actually Monday night when we packed up all the kids, herded them to the garage and TRIED to load them in the van. The doors wouldn't open. Both Joe and I took turns trying every method imaginable (door, key fob, even manually wrestling them) to open them.
Apparently, in an effort to find Lego Iron Man's mask in the depths of the back seat the night before, the interior light was left on all night.
Luckily, we have Triple A.
Unluckily, they postponed their arrival time TWICE the next day.
Also, unluckily, I was set to meet up with the guy from the company who did the emergency mitigation on our old house when it flooded in February. It was a large check that I needed to get out of my hands.
I desperately needed a shower (can I get an AMEN here, moms? How many times do you postpone your shower until "after X, Y & Z is done"?) I knew the moment I disrobed would be the exact second my doorbell would ring.
So, I waited. And swatted the flies away. ;)
Finally, the guy from Triple A arrived and did his thing with the battery. It was corroded (natch) and we needed to replace it.
I carried around my debit card for about 15 minutes. Waiting to pay.
In the mean time, I could hear the kids upstairs (above the garage) screaming and fighting. I ran up the stairs 162 times to check on them/referee and at about the 159th time I found M (almost 4 yrs) naked from the waist down. His diaper *broke* (as he says). Probably because he's almost in college and still not potty trained.
I didn't have time to run upstairs to grab a new diaper, so I told him "not to pee on the floor" (knowing somewhere in the back of my mind if he was able to do that he SHOULD be potty trained and hoping he would magically train himself right then and there).
I ran back down to the garage (feeling good for getting some kind of a workout in for the day) and went to pay...only to find that I no longer had my debit card in my hand.
I searched the van and the house.
Nowhere to be found.
Finally, I asked the kids.
Of COURSE they knew where it was. They grabbed it and were playing with it. It was on the floor.
Is nothing sacred in this house??
During the 3rd rifling of the van, I see the door to the house open...and hear the kids *whispering* about the Triple A guy when who do I see leading the charge? M. Still bottom naked.
I shooed them all back in the house, paid and bid the AAA dude good day and finally re-diapered the naked kid.
All the while grumbling about spending $127 to replace a battery that was killed all to find a freakin' Lego toy.....
I gave the kids lunchables. Hopped in the shower. Dressed myself and everyone in record time.
Got the diaper bag ready, shoes on all 14 feet, just ready to head to the van...
when I got an email from the guy I was meeting that he was going to come to me to pick up the check.
Okaaaaaay...everyone's shoes off, try to get back to our day...
Then I passed out on the couch. Seriously, y'all. I PASSED OUT!
I could NOT hold my eyes open. Weird.
After my impromptu nap (peppered with kids yelling, tattling, and waking me up, of course) I decided to be a good wife and start dinner.
The rotiserie chicken Joe bought was sitting in the sink, finished thawing. I've made these 2 other times. This time was no different.
I should have known this wasn't going to go so well when I noticed the packaging that said "Contains up to 25% actual chicken broth."
'Scuse me? What the fudge is the OTHER 75% made up of??
I don't think I want to know.
I gagged when I cut the package open and all that disgusting liquid sprayed out. I worked the chicken carcass out of the packaging, feeling like a midwife assisting in childbirth, and held my breath while I dug the giblets and the neck bone out.
Side bar: WHY do they include these things INSIDE the animal??? Can they not package them separately so I don't have to do lamaze breathing while I'm elbow deep in this poor, defenseless (albeit dead) animal?
I held it under it's wings to rinse it with cold water, inside and out.
Right about now is when I had to take several I-think-I'm-going-to-pass-out-this-is-so-disgusting-because-it's-the-same-weight-as-our-9-month-old-baby breaths, resting my head on my arms while holding the "baby" under the faucet.
Okay...successfully having survived such an archaic and disgusting procedure, I put it in the pan and added salt, pepper, and seasoning salt. All while saying silent "I'm sorry's" to this poor chicken, God rest its soul.
I popped it in the oven, set the timer, and congratulated myself on getting it done without actually throwing up.
At about minute 30 of baking, I peeked in to check on dinner when to my utter horror, I saw red, bumpy ISH oozing out of the dead chicken's arse cavity.
I had never seen THAT before.
I frantically texted Joe, resident chef at our house, and waited for him to get home to see for himself.
I knew we were in trouble when even his face turned green.
Apparently, all I had fished out of the cavity was the paper the giblets were in. Again, I ask you, WHY do those disgusting parts have to be INSIDE the chicken? Is it not enough that it's been butchered, plucked, and disemboweld, but I have to further violate it to remove the guts that were ALREADY removed and then PUT BACK IN?
It was a sight, people. If I hadn't been retching in the corner, I would have snapped a pic.
Or maybe I wouldn't have. It wasn't pretty.
So.....dinner is ruined, but the hubs sprang for dinner out. *score*
That was nice. The kids behaved, the pizza was good, the night was warm....so we decided to venture over to our old house to see how things are moving along...
Only to find things aren't actually moving at all. Or at least that's how it looks.
The guy who picked up the check told me things were progressing nicely with plastering and dry walling.
I know I'm a layman and all, but wouldn't that kind of mean plastering was taking place? There was not a speck of plaster to be found. Well, not on the walls. It was bagged neatly in the garage, though.
In fact, it looked like nothing had been done since the 2 days prior when I was there.
AND....to boot....the piece de resistance was when we discovered our lawn mower has been stolen.
This house is the problem that keeps breeding more problems.
So, dejectedly we drove back home. Cursing who would steal our mower and ourselves for being stupid enough to leave it there...
4 of the 6 kids were sleeping, so we carried/dragged them in the house when we got home, and were greeted by an ENORMOUS, BLACK WOLF SPIDER waving hello to us inside our house.
I screamed like we were being murdered. Called frantically for Joe. The kids all had to take turns looking at it. I swear I could have saddled that thing and taken it for a ride.
Thankfully, Prince Joe stepped in (literally) and smashed the crap out of it. And then gave it a burial at sea.
Of course, my "Spidey Vision" was on high and I swore every thing that moved was another relative looking for its lost family member. I envisioned armies of them coming out from underneath walls and out of vents to seek vengeance.
I had trouble sleeping last night.
But it's a new day. And I'm trying to laugh at it all now. Trying.
But, make no mistake...should I see one of those tarantulas again today, when Joe isn't here, I'm outta here. There will be no valiant killing. I will scream and run. In that order. Hopefully with the kids.