What Can I Say? The Inmates Run the Asylum Here

You know your morning isn't going well when the 90-something year old lady on the park bench at Wal Mart greets you with a toothless grin and "My, you've got your hands full!" Lady, you have no idea.

I should've taken that as a sign from God and turned around, gone home, and borrowed a roll of toilet paper from the neighbors.

Because, see, that's all I needed today. A roll of toilet paper. So I gathered the kids and all the necessary paraphernalia, resigned myself to running errands, and headed out the door. It's 28 degrees here today. I live in Texas. We don't know what to do with 28 degree weather. I crammed Russian-style winter hats on the boys, which seemed out of place with their sweatshirt-weight hoodie jackets, and bundled up Addison in a blanket. None of them has an actual winter coat.

We headed out, and the din in the car was already at a disturbing high before we'd made it out of the neighborhood. Addison has discovered that her vocal cords are, evidently, not as tiny as the rest of her, and if she's awake, she's loud. Growling, screeching, blowing raspberries. Grayson, whose name means "Quiet one," has decided that talking is fun, and he never stops. "I SEE TEES! I SEE TEES! I SEE TEES!" until I acknowledge him. "Yes, Gray, you see trees. Good." "I SEE CARS! I SEE CARS! I SEE CARS!" until the fact is once again confirmed. And then there's Caiden. When I told my grandmother years ago that I had to talk or I couldn't breathe, heaven broke out in a hilarious fit of laughter, and I have since given birth to my clone. He never, ever stops. He talks in his sleep, for pete's sake. All that to say (See, I do NOT have the gift of brevity) the car was loud. And we were only three blocks out of the driveway.

I dropped off a prescription. Went to the bank. Forgot to go to the ATM, turned around, checked it off the list. Off to Wal-Mart.

I hate Wal-Mart.

I mean, I love Wal-Mart, but I hate going with children. In 28 degrees. At lunchtime. And when the gummy grandma at the front door cackled at me, I should've just surrendered right then. But we needed toilet paper.

Halfway through the store (after purchasing roses, toothpaste, eyeliner--what on earth am I doing? I thought I was buying toilet paper; does Wal-Mart spray "Buy Me" pheromones through their vents?) I smelled the Stink of Stinks. I hurried Caiden, Grayson in the stroller, and Addison in the carseat into the family restroom. Addison, who's evidently teething (read: wakes up screeching in the middle of the night and is starting to bite me), had a diaper explosion that's impressive for a girl her size. Half of her clothes went into the trash. That's right. In the trash. I was not in the mood for carrying around baby-poop stained clothes around Wal-Mart. We create enough of a scene as it is. Upon realizing I didn't have any of her diapers in the bag, I fastened one of Grayson's Size 5 diapers on her. So what if she wears Size 2? Now there's NO chance of another blow out. Everybody was snapped up, fastened, scrubbed, and we resumed our shopping.

Caiden, who's in charge of pushing Grayson in the umbrella stroller, is inadvertently taking out all manner of elderly cane-wielding folks, most of whom are extremely gracious. I, on the other hand, am starting to lose it. My hair is coming loose out of my ponytail, and I'm starting the incoherent mutter I adopt when I'm frazzled. "Of all the stupid ideas. . .28 stinkin' degrees . . .Get out of our way . . .I hate Wal-Mart . . .Who needs toilet paper anyway?" People are making a wide berth around us, as we steer crazily down the aisles. Grayson and Addison are both keeping up a constant stream of sock-and-shoe flinging, with me and Caiden attempting to push cart and stroller while alternately hunching down and picking up somebody's footwear. Addison is blowing bubbles and raspberries as she grins wickedly at me, while I cram the sock on for the 18th time, continuing my steady stream of aggravated muttering.

We finally--finally--vacate the premises, $200 poorer (How did that happen?), and I feel like someone should announce our departure over the sound system. After freezing and muttering and reminding Caiden for the 59th time to STOP COMPLAINING! and BE PATIENT! I realize that I am, in fact, Losing It. And I am helpless to do anything but stand by and watch.

Prescriptions have been picked up, movies dropped off, and we're heading down the last street before heading home. A school zone. I'm jabbering away on my cellphone, talking to my mother, when I see a sight I've never seen before. The cop in the middle of the turn lane does a U-turn, following me. Me! I squeak into the phone, "Mom, I'm actually being pulled over! Pulled over! I'll call you back." I drop the phone into my bag and pull into the high school parking lot. It's quittin' time, and kids are streaming out of the doors. Yes, kids, I'm a good example of why abstinence works in high school. Unless you want to look like me, you should be good. Very good.

While I wait for the police officer, I wade through the diaper bag chaos to find my wallet. Drivers license. Insurance card--expired months ago. Great.

He arrives at my door, smiling. "Ma'am? I'm Officer Somebody for the City of Somewhere, and I've pulled you over because your registration expired. In January 2006." He blinks at me. I'm flustered. "Um, here's my license. Expired? Really? I bought it in June. That's strange. And my insurance? Well, I'm sure it's here. It's always here. But that seems to be expired, too." (Dear Lord, please don't let him think I'm am idiot.) My glance falls down to the floorboard, where a bowl of frozen hummus and a rotten banana peel rest. I glance back at him, near frantic. "I'm not usually this disorganized. Really." I find the current insurance, and ask him how my registration could possibly be expired, if we'd just bought the car in June. Wouldn't they have given us a sticker? Then I ramble on. "Well, not that this matters at all, but I had a baby in May who had open-heart surgery this summer, and my husband bought me this van, and I wasn't there for the signing, and I really don't have any idea where the sticker is, and I know that doesn't matter at all." I'm drowning here, Mr. Police Officer, please save me. Please just make me shut up now.

He grinned at me then, realizing that I have Lost It. Not just the sticker, folks, but my mind. "I can find out for you if a new sticker has been issued." He walks back to his car, and the boys come alive. Grayson shrieks, "Police MAN! Police MAN! Police MAN!" and Caiden asks 9467 questions, all in the space of one minute.

He's back. "Ma'am, it doesn't expire until May 2007. You can call TXDOT and ask for a new one. The dealership probably forgot to give it to you." I smile at his graciousness, knowing he and I both see the current state of things and realize that's not likely. He finishes, "You have a nice day, and drive careful" before waving at the boys. Grayson calls out a cheerful "GOODBYE! GOODBYE! GOODBYE!" through the open window until the officer waves and calls back, "Goodbye!" and I pull out of the lot.

As I sit here, I'm trying to find the moral of the story, or something I can turn into a devotional, or anything at all that redeems my morning. But I can't. And folks, that's just how life is sometimes. Especially mine. But since it's the only one I've got, I'm keeping it. Not like you wanted it, or anything, but I'm keeping it, all the same.