Last Saturday started with so much promise. I was thrilled to finally have a day to relax and hang out with my kids. My son was off work, and they didn’t have to go to their dad’s until later. I was excited to indulge in some of the Christmas cookies I had baked and thought it would be nice to take the kids out for lunch.
As I stood in the shower, enjoying the warm water and lost in my thoughts, my oldest daughter peeked in to tell me she was running to the store to get gas for the snowblower. A wave of relief washed over me—something I cherish since my divorce. It’s a fleeting feeling, often lasting no more than a day, but I soak it in while I can.
Thinking it was a great time for a deep-conditioning treatment, I slathered some fragrant product in my hair and resumed counting my blessings. But that peace lasted all of three seconds. My youngest burst into the bathroom, frantically claiming his brother had hit one of our beloved pet ducks and we needed to rush to the vet immediately.
Now, my youngest has a knack for joking around and often says things that aren’t true just to get a reaction. So, at first, I brushed him off. But when I looked out and saw him crying, I knew it was real. I quickly jumped out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, hair dripping with conditioner, and rushed outside with my second child, who was in tears.
Standing in the driveway, I felt a bit like Cousin Eddie from Christmas Vacation, dressed in my tiny robe and furry boots, my wet hair adding to the absurdity. Feathers littered the ground, my son’s truck was still running, and to my left lay our sweet duck—lifeless and with her feet sticking up in the air. We stood there sobbing together in the cold for a while.
Once we composed ourselves, we faced the grim task of defeathering, which only made my kids cry harder. My son felt terrible; it was an accident, and he wanted to make amends. After disposing of the duck and holding a mini funeral, I was nearly frozen, so I convinced the kids to go out to eat. “It will cheer us up, and we can start looking for another duck while we eat,” I suggested. They agreed, and we headed to our favorite fast-food joint, where I stress-ate my fries and my kids’ too.
After an hour of chatting, it was time to drop the kids off with their dad. We decided to adopt a new duck since our remaining one was grieving her sibling, so I had quite a bit to tackle while they were away—including finishing my holiday shopping and wrapping without their curious eyes.
On my way home, I felt an uncomfortable sensation in my stomach. Before I knew it, panic set in as I realized I might not make it home. Why did I eat so many fries? Was I about to have an accident? Just then, my daughter’s name popped up on my phone. I had to answer; after everything that morning, I couldn’t ignore her.
She called to remind me she had wrapped her retainers in a napkin and left them in the center console. “You didn’t throw them away, did you?” she asked. Of course, I had tossed them! I remembered grabbing the trash before we left and stuffing that napkin into the bag. In that moment, I knew I had to do the unthinkable: go back and dig through the fast-food trash to retrieve the retainers.
With my stomach ready to explode, I practically spun my car around in the parking lot. I didn’t care how long the drive-thru line was; I had to act fast. I ran to the trash can, plunged my hand in, and felt for our bag.
I didn’t even have time to be embarrassed; the impending disaster was too urgent. I put on a mask and dashed into the nearly empty dining area, clutching the used bag. Just in time for a quick bathroom break, I was relieved to find my underwear clean—thankfully, no accidents occurred. But as I went to wipe, I discovered there was no toilet paper left.
Not wanting to pull my leggings up, I dashed to another stall, only to find it was out of order too. My choices were limited: I could either march out and ask the overwhelmed staff for help or find a clever solution. Naturally, I opted for the latter and rummaged through my purse for extra masks, using them as makeshift toilet paper.
Once I got home, I indulged in a dozen cookies to soothe my frazzled nerves. While we survived that chaotic day, it reminded me that sometimes, a day can be terrible without anything truly devastating happening. Just a series of unfortunate events can leave you feeling drained for weeks.
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- How to handle a bad day as a parent
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Summary:
This article recounts a chaotic Saturday filled with mishaps, from a pet duck’s tragic accident to a frantic search for lost retainers. The author humorously navigates the trials of parenting, illustrating how a seemingly normal day can spiral into a series of unfortunate events. Ultimately, it serves as a reminder that even on the toughest days, it’s essential to find humor and solace.