Be careful what you wish for…
Such a shitty, ominous warning, isn’t it?
Except it’s true.
Take my wish earlier this week to have a kid-free weekend.
My summer so far has not been bad. I’ve managed to survive dealing with our kids and keeping them relatively entertained and busy. We’ve had some fun. Huzbo has helped out as best he can, but he’s been very busy with work, so most of the responsibility has been mine. Sometimes even on weekends or evenings.
My parents very kindly offered to take Baby Girl to their place “up north” for the weekend. My stepson is with his mother. I was beside myself yesterday, tweeting about skipping around with joy and excitement.
It started out well. Baby Girl left at 2pm. I relished the quietness for a bit and then decided that a good nap, without interruption or need to wake up at a pre-set time, was in order.
Huzbo and I had planned to grab some wings, beer and a movie. But I woke up later than I thought I would and didn’t get ready fast enough for the wings and beer part. We agreed to have dinner AT the movies and have a drink later. After all – we had no kids to get up early for!!
We enjoyed the movie but when we came out, Huzbo decided he was “too tired” and “too full” from our nutritious dinner to enjoy a drink.
Ok, no problem. Always tomorrow night, as we have TWO nights kid-free!
I pulled out my phone during the drive home and was immediately alarmed to see my parents’ cell number as a missed call. Uh-oh. There was no message left, which somehow made me more worried, wondering about all the possible reasons why they could be calling.
Then it hit me.
I had forgot to pack Baby Girl’s Numero Uno security comfort item. She doesn’t go to bed without it. She won’t sleep without it. It was 10pm. A sense of dread settled in.
My mom answered the phone and confirmed that I had indeed forgotten to pack the item. And Baby Girl was beyond hysterical. I could hear her screaming and sobbing in the background. My heart died. Then it reached out and bitch-slapped me for being so incredibly stupid. Then my brain got mad and defensive at my heart and said “Fuck off heart. It was an ACCIDENT!”. But none of that helped Baby Girl. Or my folks. Or me.
Twenty minutes of what can only be described as HELL later, after listening to Baby Girl scream at me and my parents and sob and cry, I finally had to tell her that if she didn’t settle down, I would have to come there to bring her home. And I would have. Despite the 3 hours it would have taken to drive there and back. Part of me expected her to agree to that, considering how tired and upset she was, but I think what she really had been hoping for was that I would drive up there and bring her the goods. That wasn’t gonna happen and I explained to her that if she would go to sleep NOW, my parents would buy her a NEW item the next day so it would only be ONE sleep without it. Nothing worked. I told my poor equally distraught mother that if my daughter didn’t calm down within 20 minutes, I would be on my way.
Thankfully, my mom called back in 22 minutes and said she had settled. Not easily, but she was most likely too exhausted to continue.
Now, I could continue this post exploring all the different levels of mom-guilt and self-loathing that I felt, knowing how much my daughter values this comfort item and why she needs it (this is one of those private details that I’m not going to ever share to protect her privacy, but suffice to say this item provides comfort to her in relation to one of the many hardships she endured prior to adoption.) Ya – THAT kind of guilt and loathing towards myself for my screw-up.
Huzbo tried to assure me it was not my fault and she would be ok, but I was too rattled and upset and needed to get my mind off of things, despite the fact that it was now 11pm and I am usually sawing logs by that time.
So I grabbed my laptop to social media myself to sleep.
And came to find out that my barely 2 months-new laptop had been infected with a trojan virus that had literally eaten my cursor.
I had no cursor. None. Nada. Zero.
(Not to be confused with I had no curs-ing, which was definitely not the case at that point.)
Ever tried to use a computer without a cursor? Not exactly user-friendly.
Huzbo, sensing my rising temper, suggested we call the manufacturer’s tech support to see if they were open and could help. He searched the number on his Blackberry and dialed it on from there. As he handed me the phone, I asked him “Are you sure this is the manufacturer’s number?” He confirmed it was.
After a 20 minute discussion with the girl who answered the phone, asked a bunch of questions, obtained my laptop serial number, left me on hold for 10 minutes to “conduct diagnostics” and then returned to say she could fix my problem for a 1 year service plan of $150 and my subsequent freak-out at her that this was outrageous, my laptop was brand-new, it should still be under warranty, I would write a letter to the manufacturer, blah, blah, blah – the poor girl finally had a chance to explain to me that she worked for an independent tech support company that was a preferred support contractor for the manufacturer of my laptop, but she was not actually THE manufacturer of my laptop.
Huzbo had simply dialed the 1st hit that Google gave him (a sponsored one), assuming it was a 100% match to his search criteria of the manufacturer’s name.And Huzbo thought that was amusing.
Not exactly the kid-free night I was wishing for.
So friends – be careful what you wish for. Profound words.
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