A summary of our weekend. ‘Cause all I can take is a summary. If I got into more detail, I would likely fall to the floor into the fetal position, rocking myself and mumbling something about Calgon.
My leased car was due for an oil change. I don’t know much about cars, but I do know that if you asked Big Mama, she would tell you she was nowhere near in need of an oil change. But according to the dealership, where we get the oil changes done, it was time and if we don’t get it changed pronto, they’ll make us pay dearly at the end of the lease. Like with a pint of blood. Well, they may not have used those exact words, but it was totally implied.
We didn’t have a babysitter. This meant we had to take Eirinn to a car dealership. If I were to make a list of the Top 100 Places I Wouldn’t Dare Take Eirinn, a car dealership would probably be in the top ten, wedged between the Grand Canyon and a funeral.
An oil change, I was promised by those who will remain Anonymous, is only supposed to take a half an hour. Mine took almost an hour. While waiting, Eirinn was pretty darn good for the first half. The second half contained a lot of yelling (of course), crawling on the dirty, dirty floor, running (of course), and trying to push over the towers of display tires. And, of course, fits of rage when we tried to stop her from doing any of these things.
Unfortunately, after the oil change we weren’t going home. We were going to purchase something I’ve been waiting a long time for. My new camera! *yippy! annoying-Valu-Home-Center-happy-dance! yippy!* I’ll introduce you before I go on.
World meet my Nikon D80 baby, Nikon D80 baby, meet World.
The yelling and rage continued in the camera store but she also kicked it up a notch and added crying and fidgeting and “MAMAMAMAMAMA!!!!!” to the mix. She also, somewhere between the car dealership and the mall, learned the art of manipulation using the ol’ poopy diaper trick. Obviously I would have to vacate the store, leaving Anonymous Husband alone to make life changing decisions about the purchase that was costing us more than a used car, if Eirinn told me that she pooped. WHICH WAS A LIE! But at least we didn’t get kicked out of the store without the camera at all, which is probably what would have happened if she kept up with the Grumpious Maximus act.
On the way home I was able to keep her awake until two blocks from our house. Two blocks. And she was so asleep that we were afraid she had slipped into some kind of rage-induced coma. No amount of arm-shaking, cheek-pinching, Diego-theme-song-singing, neck-tickling would wake her up.
Wow, I promised a summary and it turned into a novel. I guess I needed to vent. The rest of the weekend I will actually summarize.
Thrice Awake During the Night
One Hour Nap
The Grumpy Old Troll
And some more Grumpy McGrumperton, just to round off the weekend nicely. All of this less than favourable attitude left me in a less than favourable mood and very, very exhausted, physically, emotionally and mentally.
You’ll also notice that nowhere do I mention the well documented fairy princess portrait session. That is because THERE IS NO WAY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH I will subject a) the photographer, b) other mall patrons, or c) myself to That Which Is Grumpy Eirinn. She also has a bruise on her left cheek, fingernail cut on her right cheek, a scrape on her nose, and a mean looking teething rash on her chin. Her face matches the ‘tude.
I’m probably going to drop Eirinn off early tomorrow just so I can start my week of vacation, or “work” as most people call it, ten minutes early.
I swear, she was thisclose to being stuck out at the end of the driveway with a sign around her neck “Free to a Good Home – No Exchanges or Refunds.”