The day started like any other. Around 2:30am someone coughed up the excess cold, windy weather they absorbed this weekend and woke me up. I heard the baby’s new militant shout, “Leave The Door!” which actually sounds more like, “Leaf De Door!” which for some reason makes me smile and repeat, “Leaf De Door, Conquistador” before checking to be sure her door was in fact left in the exact 48 degree angle it was positioned at 7:45pm when she was put down for the night.

Hanna had an appointment with her Orthodontist over the noon hour. We were told when her spacers were put on there would be several, frequent, totally-covered-under-our-health-plan check-ups but this was the first in two months since having them put on. Our hope was she would be told the spacers had done their job and her teeth were now in position to allow for her full fangs to rear their ugly heads.

I crossed my fingers that her teeth would not be.

The report from Greg was less than positive.

Apparently her gums had grown completely over one set of spacers and the Orthodontist suggested this was incredibly rare and in large part due to our ignorance in not brushing her gums away from the braces. Read: Mom, you boner. You brushed the gums onto her teeth encouraging them to fully envelope the braces and the tooth enamel you shithead.

I felt sorry for Hanna for the rest of the day wondering if there was something more I could have done to prevent such a strange unpredictable outcome but was happy to send her to swimming later in the afternoon when she claimed she was up to it after eating two bowls of plain noodles. Her go-to meal when she knows I’ll make her anything making up for yet another parental error. One day she’ll be crowned the pasta queen and wear a fusilli sash if I keep up at this rate.

We made it to the pool, baby rehearsing her “Leaf De Door” (Conquistador) chant and I threw a diaper into the swimming bag before heading in to change for lessons.

Two girls were dressed in record time and the baby threw a tantrum over not having a “SUIT!” like her sisters. Thankfully, I had a spare so on went a girls size seven bathing suit over top her long sleeved shirt, long pants, socks and Elmo running shoes. Was she the talk of the waiting area? Of course. But she wasn’t screaming about a suit or a door so the only thing necessary for the next hour was to potentially make use of the diaper I had thrown in the bag.

As it turned out, she needed more than one diaper having soiled right through her sister’s SUIT with the first deposit within minutes of entering the building.

I reached into the swimming bag assuming I must have a spare diaper and found empty raisin boxes from last week’s attempt at order during the one hour wait but no sign of a diaper. Could I fashion a diaper together out of these boxes or would my time be better served trying to make music by blowing into the box and keeping the baby entertained with the musical stylings of Mommy and the Raisinettes.

I managed to convince Hanna to keep an eye on her younger sister’s lesson while I lugged the baby across a huge parking lot to change her second explosion in the van. Did I mention, it was now pouring rain?

Back to the pool to get changed, negotiate our way through a cold, dirty shower only to be told (leaf de door among other things) that the girls had planned to refuse the poolside shower but agreed to a sudsy warm bath before any play time at home.

There would be no play time at home because after the sudsy warm bath and a quick bite to eat, we were off to an out-of-town, undisclosed location to meet a representative from the Turtle Trauma Centre to pass along our “Shelly” in the hopes she might survive the winter with proper care.

I was asked on the phone by the representative why it had taken me a week to contact them. For starters, I had no idea such a program, building, turtle enthusiast haven existed and secondly, I didn’t think the turtle would live a week.

She asked how far I was willing to drive to meet her with the turtle. Does two blocks sound reasonable?

I told her if she wondered what I looked like I would be the woman in the parking lot holding a turtle. She did not find that amusing.

Ellie gathered some money from her piggy bank and was so pleased to hand the volunteer $14 of her own money to help take care of Shelly as the volunteer explained to Elllie (age 5) if this female turtle (she immediately established it was female based on her claws) has any damage to her pelvic or reproductive organs, if she tries to lay eggs, it will kill her. Ellie glanced at me and then her baggy of money. I wonder if she thought about swiping it out of the air and saving it for the snake we retrieved from the neighbour’s living room that likely had a better chance at surviving the elements and returning to haunt us all.

On the way home, I hit a rock. At least, I hope it was a rock.