Most mornings are a varying degree of crazy. Some a relatively sane. Some are a balance of sane and crazy. Some are like this morning.
Amélie is back in diapers since yesterday evening. I decided I was tired (both literally and figuratively) of not sleeping on account of being worried about how much longer she’d hold in her pee. So besides running after her to try to change her so-full-it-was-seeping diaper, after breakfast, I also had to run after her to get her dressed and then get her coat and shoes on.
Charles, on the other hand, was constantly changing between his “I’m a big boy” mode, his “I’m an insufferable tattletale” mode and his “I want to control everything” mode. Whew!
Then, Elliot was starting to become tired (who wouldn’t be with all the screaming and running around that was happening) and started to communicate that fact to me (by crying, of course).
So here I was, standing in the entrance of the house. Charles was telling me that his sister stunk. I was realizing that she stunk. She was yelling because her brother was saying that she was stinking. Charles was telling me that Elliot was crying. Amélie was insisting (very loudly) that there was no poop in her diaper. Elliot was pursuing his attempts at communicating his annoyance at the fact that he was tired and strapped in his car seat and hot and still not sleeping.
Then the doorbell rings.
I answer and this dude from one of the cable companies around here is standing there talking on the phone.
Him: [continuing his conversation]
Me (insisting): What can I do for you?
Him: [telling the other person on the phone to wait a bit] You called.
Me: Uh, nope, I didn’t (I know this for a fact because we don’t do business with this company on account of the fact that all of its employees seem to be blessed with the idiocy gene).
Him: But isn’t your address [leans back to see the door number] 126 street name?
Me: Yes, it is, but I didn’t call you.
Him: Oh! There are a lot of kids here (guess he finally noticed the commotion behind me).
Me: There are three.
Him: Do you run a daycare?
Me: No, they’re all mine, BUT I was on my was to daycare.
Him: But you called.
Me: (Holy crap, is this guy dense?) No, I did not. Perhaps you should recheck the door number or the street name.
Him: [taking the phone away from his ear to look at it] Oh. I’m supposed to go to 116 street name.
Me: [slams the door in his face before turning around to take care of the kiddo’s diaper]