The number of proverbial balls in the air increased exponentially in the past week, and I have to say, I couldn't be happier about it. I'm making the switch from SAHM (stay-at-home mom) to WAHM (work-at-home mom), and while I anticipate a massive learning curve, there's this excited burn in my belly, and I am loving the feeling. And, while I'm selling advertising, I have also been included in the writers' spool and am writing articles for the mag. Seriously? Can I be happier?
We also got super-exciting news on Friday and really I'm still bursting about it: We are going to Disney for 6 days in October! Here was the scene - Friday morning, we went to the New Jersey Motor Vehicle Hell Hole to finally get my plates and registration. The peeps there said that both Pete and I had to be present in order to accomplish this task, and when I went the first time he wasn't there and I didn't have the right documents, so it was a big fail. Friday morning was our attempt...and they only needed to physically see his driver's license and his person, so I realized that I could have swiped his license out of his wallet and grabbed some poor shlub from line and said, "Stand here" and that would have sufficed for the MVC's purposes. Pete, in the meantime, is stuck with Captain Insane-o (Our latest nickname for Liz. Busy Lizzy is no longer an accurate description.) She's screaming, trying to climb out of the stroller, and Erin and Meghan are like crack addicts, and Pete's trying to wrangle the three of them in while his Blackberry is buzzing and ringing, literally, every 22 seconds. Stress. Ugh.
So we leave, he gets back to the safe haven of his dungeon-office, and Insane-o is shot. Nap time. I put her down, and Erin and Meghan join me in the quest for groceries. (I hate shopping with kids. I would rather go through labor without anesthesia every day for the rest of my life than EVER go grocery shopping with any of my kids. Seriously.) So we're negotiating our way through the store, and they continue to appear to the outside world that they are either addicts of some sort or afflicted by some strange condition that makes them run within the inch of an oncoming cart's wheels with their toes and heels and then pick each other up and run up and down the aisles, carrying each other and then wiping out on that dirty-ass linoleum.
I audibly threatened to either leave them in the store or outside on the curb. The kids didn't give a shit, and the eavesdropping adults would have done the same damn thing. No DYFS worries that day.
My phone rings. They are running up and down the aisles, still, and I've given up all hope of controlling them. It's Pete. Smile. He says, "When you get home, I need you to do something."
I say, "Really? Can you tell me when I get home because I'm trying not to kill people at the moment." Pete: "That's fine, I just need you to book that trip to Disney so we lock in our quote."
Shock. Astonishment. The urge to respond with, "Do we have to take the kids?"
So I call Erin and Meghan back from their latest seizure of insanity in the canned goods aisle, and put Pete on speakerphone. Pete says, "Girls, what could be the best news that I could tell you?"
Meghan: "That we are going to Disney!"
He confirms and a screaming, joyous fit breaks out between the three of us, and while we managed NOT to upset any displays, we won't be asked back to Shop Rite anytime soon. That much is a definite.
Final bit: All That Mama Drama! is finding a new home. Details to come...