Monday, January 11, 2010

A cautionary tale

My parents' generous Christmas gift was money to repaint our dining room. The previous owners of the house painted it with white, blue, and yellow vertical stripes. It's not horrible, but it's really not our style. Yet, it was always challenging to figure out the logistics of painting ourselves, when the project is going to require a coat of primer, 2 coats of paint, and moving heavy furniture away from the walls...all while keeping the boy away from the paint and heavy, unsecured furniture.

So thanks to my parents we can now hire a professional and skedaddle for the weekend, returning to a freshly painted dining room. I headed out today to get the paint chips. The Nugget was excited to "help Mommy pick colors" but was soon distraught when he was unable to buckle his car seat without assistance. Then of course the snack I brought for him was all wrong. Amid the crying, I realized that I had forgotten to grab the directions to the store and called Hubby. Hubby kindly pulled up directions for me and then misread them to me 3 times. So I drove up and down Ireland Rd. 5 times, the Nugget howling all the way, before finally finding the paint store.

The Nugget recovered for the walk from the car to the store, but immediately found himself unable to open the heavy door to Sherwin-Williams. When I assisted him, the bloodcurdling screams started again. I raced to the wall, grabbed all the paint chips I could possibly want, and booked it next door to get the Nugget lunch at Jimmy John's. I can't remember what set him off there - the piece of sandwich I ripped off for him was asymmetrical, or he wanted his own soft drink, or the wind was blowing west when he wanted it to blow east, but needless to say, I had to ask the clerk for a bag to tote the food home. I carefully counted all the paint chips and tucked them inside the bag, then headed out, with my miserable son in tow. It was an epic adventure getting him the 10 yards back to the car and securely fastened in his car seat, which involved carrying my 35 pound flailing child while being kicked in the shins by sturdy toddler snow boots, then throwing out my back while tussling him into the car seat. (There are many moments in my day where I feel like parenting a large toddler is quite similar to mutton busting or pig wrestling.) He railed loudly against the many injustices of life all the way home.

At home, I finally calmed him down, we ate our sandwiches peacefully, and I tucked him in for a much needed nap. I went to get the paint chips out of the bag...BUT THEY WERE GONE!


P.S. After calling Hubby in tears and having him pick up another stack of paint chips on his way home from work, Hubby walked in the house and immediately spotted the original chips. The ones I thought I dropped. They were facedown on top of the microwave. Somewhere, St. Anthony is laughing.

1 comment:

  1. Oh Annie, I a can't stop laughing, but I am also truly sorry. I PROMISE this "season" shall pass. I had forgotten how particular that age is, but your vivid story reminded me of my own OCD 2.5 year olds. Thanks for sharing your memory and helping me recall some of my own. REST! May the Nugget take a nice long nap today.