So it's TWO DAYS before Christmas, which coincidentally, is the day that my procrastinator side meets my over-ambitious alter ego--and this is the story of how they left me bawling my eyes out in the parking lot of Sam's Club. True f-ing story.
I knew it was an errand day; and so, after letting the kids kill off their social manners and a few thousand brain cells on the Wii, we headed out for a late lunch at Chick-Fil-A. I LOVE Chick-Fil-A, but I ALWAYS forget that I love it until Sundays (when it's closed, for those of you who live in 1985). But also, I tend to forget that Chick-Fil-A, if consumed in the actual restaurant, gives me ADD. Mostly because the place is 73 times smaller than it needs to be to effectively contain THAT MANY three year olds. First glance always suggests that there are no open tables--until you place your order, and by some miracle of GOD, a booth opens up! But there's the urgency, because the place is PACKED and at this point, it is making my brain misfire--very similar to "Wal-Mart-on-Black-Friday" syndrome. So I'm booking it toward the table, and the Chick-Fil-A people are calling my name because our order is ready, and I tell the kids to go sit down, but suddenly they develop a fear of being more than 3 inches away from me, and then G just decides to pull her really tiny tooth out and can I hold it?, while I'm just barking orders at the kids and the Chick-Fil-A people who have (at this point) kindly helped me to my table, because it's pretty damn obvious that I need it, don't you think? We are 17 minutes into errand running. And then I opened the Chick-Fil-A sauce, and I FORGOT, I love the Chick-Fil-A sauce, and so I drank it and that is officially how I added indigestion into this equation.
After Chick-Fil-A, their playground and the retying of eight shoelaces, I went to:
- buy some gift certificates (procrastinator)
- pimp a paint store for off-tint paint for our school Art Fest (ambitious)
- purchase a large canvas with a tax-free letter and a 50% off coupon (ambitious)
- purchase fabric to make bowties and stuffing to make ornaments (procrastinator, and crazy)
- go to Sam's Club to pick up photos for handmade snow globes and various other items for Christmas dinner
Here's where we hit a bit of a problem, because we have been asked to bring a 9x13 container of Sam's brand macaroni and cheese to Christmas dinner, as a side dish for the kids. Not Stouffer's, but SAM'S BRAND. I did a prelimnary search a few days ago, and turned up with nothing, and so I *probably* went into Sam's with a little bit of an attitude about the mac-and-cheese, but then I found it! Only, it wasn't a 9x13, it was more like a 5 x 8.75? And that just blew the whole damn thing apart.
I called Mike, paralyzed; I asked him to confirm the exact size of the container with his aunt. The kids wanted free cookies, but they wouldn't walk up to the counter by themselves, obviously still traumatized by the Chick-Fil-A table experience. Mike called back, said we could buy whatever mac-and-cheese we wanted--he suggested we make it? Which is exactly what you don't say to a woman who is freaking out about the logistics of a macaroni and cheese container two days before Christmas, but to tell you the truth, I don't think he could have said anything right in that circumstance, unless it was that he had miraculously purchased me a year's supply of mac-n-cheese for Christmas--and let's face it, that would be a huge kick to my imaginary testicles too. He told me to just get the 5 x 8.75 inch container; I explained that this would likely leave us short on mac-and-cheese, and that there would be whining, LOTS OF WHINING, and that would CERTAINLY trigger the zombie apocalypse, because you have no idea how close we come to summoning the undead on a daily basis. He told me to buy TWO of the odd-sized mac-and-cheeses, which is like $21 in MAC-AND-CHEESE and I am opposed to that on so many levels, but mostly on my morals as a decent human being.
In any case, I made it out of Sam's on the edge of a full-blown nervous breakdown, though, I did let the kids each pick out their own cardboard box, because it is still Christmas, after all--and also because zombies HATE cardboard. And then we headed to the library to return "Beethoven's Christmas" and borrow something equally as atrocious, which is when I realized, SON OF A BITCH, I left my small purse in the cart at Sam's. However, it took me 10 minutes to make sure I didn't shove it in between the crap on my front seat, OR amongst the art supplies in my trunk.
I held it together pretty good, especially considering that the gift certificates I purchased (that day) were in there, rendering an entire hour of errand running NULL and VOID--but I probably would have eaten my shirt if the mac-and-cheese was in there too, which thankfully, it wasn't. We are talking about a total elapsed time of 15 minutes, but when I got to Sam's I didn't find it in any of the carts in the corrals I parked next to, nor had it been turned into the membership desk. I talked to the guys who collect the carts--NOPE--and then I went back to the car and called Mike and bawled my eyes out. Because I leave my small, stupid, completely-wrong-choice-in-a-handbag in shopping carts quite frequently, and yet my faith in humanity is ALWAYS restored--except, of course, at Christmas when I could REALLY use some goodwill toward men, because I am about to lose my schmidt over the logistical size of a mac-and-cheese pan.
Mike listened SO kindly, and we debated whether or not to cancel the credit card, when it was still possible that the dumb purse could show up. Two days before Christmas is the WORST time to be without your credit card, because you just might need to pick up a last minute marine-endorsed air soft gun (story for another day). He asked if I left my name at the front desk so that they could call if it was found--but I said no because I was SURE that terrorists had found it and were already financing an attack with American credit, and they CERTAINLY weren't going to return my gift certificates out of kindness. It felt THAT devastating, but Mike convinced me to march back in there, all red and puffy, which is precisely when the guys who collect the carts found my purse. In the row/ cart corral NEXT TO the one I thought I parked in originally. HOORAY! And also, WHOOPSIE!
And then we headed to Kinko's to laminate pictures to be used in our snow globes--pictures, which coincidentally, we realized were all TOO LARGE to fit in the jars intended for the snow globes, upon returning home this evening. I'm up, then I'm down, then I'm REALLY down, and then it turns out that fate is just being a bastard that is just f-ing with my last minute crafting. Whatever, I'm so over the snow globes, now I'm on to ceramic paint baking and bowties.
And also, because I know that sometimes you need affirmation that Christmas is crazy in other people's houses--I am planning a SERIES of blog posts throughout Christmas day, so CHECK IN, people. Sometime after you confiscate that slingshot you bought your kid, tune in to see me dissect EXACTLY what I was thinking when I gifted an airsoft gun to a seven and five year old.