I started the day needing milk. Why did we need milk? Because once per quarter, on the first Monday of the month, on this my husband’s fortieth birthday, everyone in the house decided they want cereal for breakfast when we were down to our last teaspoon from our earlier, weekly supply of nine bags.
The doorbell rang at the same time as the phone. The guy at the door was representative number twenty-seven sent from ABC company to source the smell in the basement. Sniff-test forty-six had come to a stinky finish before I got off the phone and concluded with the same disappointing result, “This is a stumper.” Our sommelier headed off to cleanse his palate while blindfolded, savouring a selection of noxious gases before his next appointment.
The phone call was about the water truck we booked for our still liner-less pool. “Can we bump it up two hours?” Sure! We aren’t anticipating having a liner by the time you arrive but it might put the pressure on the pool company to see a truck with a guy pointing a large hose in their direction.
Buy milk, buy milk, don’t forget the milk.
Chloe filled her diaper and at the same time was fairly insistent I serve her some sliced mango followed by a Tic-Tac, a minty-minty Tic-Tac, not the gross kind in Mommy’s car (TUMS) the good minty-minty kind from Daddy’s car. I had three minutes to get to the school to pick up Hanna for her Orthodontist appointment just when Ellie stopped me dead in my tracks for what seemed to be the most important announcement of her six years on this planet.
Ellie: Mom, watch me. I’m not going to blink for five whole minutes.
Buy milk. Blink.
She didn’t make it. She didn’t even make it five seconds before switching gears to paper airplane mode and of course the maiden voyage of her Canada to China bound paper airplane flying at an altitude of 5 feet, five inches nailed me square in the retina.
Chloe: Mommy, my legs are broken. Sit with me and rub them.
Yes Godfather.
Milk.
