Parenting
By Jamie Turner
Updated: April 2, 2021
Originally Published: March 25, 2021
On Friday evening, all I wanted was to order a pizza. With an empty pantry and a long workday behind me, I dreaded taking my two hungry kids to the store. So, I visited Firetrail Pizza’s website to grab their delivery number. From the name alone, I should have known it would be an adventure. After two disconnections and rerouting, I finally got through only to find out the number linked to a brewery, not a pizza place. That should have been a sign—perhaps the universe was offering me a cold beer instead. But alas, I was too hungry.
As I was placing my order for a pear-gorgonzola pizza, my daughter, Mia, started crying. I picked her up, and she calmed down momentarily, but as soon as I put her down, she screamed again. The person on the line was clearly annoyed, and desperate for my pizza, I barricaded myself in the master bedroom to complete the order. I felt like a trapped animal, fearing I had accidentally ordered some dreaded olives—yuck!
What should have taken twenty minutes stretched into an hour, and my family grew increasingly hangry. After a frustrating call to the delivery driver, I discovered they had no record of my order. It was bedtime, and I needed a plan fast. So, I placed a new order for Thai food instead. I could already see a scathing Yelp review about the pizza in my future. We finally ate nearly three hours after that initial phone call.
On Saturday, my fussy, teething toddler decided to reject the breakfast I made for her and instead consumed our entire morning routine. She clung to me like a koala, wailing in my ear, and I realized I was in desperate need of coffee—coffee and silence.
My five-year-old, Lily, sat in her ballet leotard drenched in maple syrup, leading us to be late for dance class. She didn’t change, so we arrived with her backside looking quite brown. Fifteen minutes late and without her tap shoes, she still managed to dance. I took my toddler and snuck off to a nearby coffee shop for a latte.
At the cafe, I placed my daughter at my feet and ordered my drink. As the barista worked her magic, I swiped my credit card only to hear, “Your card is declined.” I tried my debit card, praying it would work. There was no reason for this; my paycheck had just been deposited.
Sighing, I stepped aside to call my bank while my toddler began tugging at my pants, tears streaming down her face. In a moment of distraction, my keys and card slipped from my hands and fell to the floor. As I bent down to gather my scattered things, I heard a rip and felt a cold breeze. The entire coffee shop now had a front-row seat to my floral underwear display. But I was determined to get that latte. I scooted my way to the counter, silently wishing for the day to turn around.
Arriving fashionably late to the ballet studio, the teacher looked puzzled as I attempted to sneak out, hoping no one had noticed my wardrobe malfunction. I should have stayed inside, but the show must go on.
Later that day, we had swim lessons and a birthday party. At the pool, Lily decided to ignore the teacher’s instructions and lounged on the ledge instead of learning to swim. I watched my money float away with her inaction. Thankfully, she apologized and finished her lesson, and we stepped out into the sunshine, thinking perhaps the day was turning around.
At Target, we searched for a birthday gift but then headed to the wrong house for the party. A construction worker informed us that Lucy and her family weren’t home. I was on the verge of tears, but we still had a chance to make it to the right party.
As we drove to Jake’s birthday party, Haddie vanished from my side. Panic set in as I called her name, imagining the worst. After ten frantic minutes, I found her in the candy aisle, completely oblivious to my panic. Furious, I scolded her and we finally got back into the car. Arriving nearly two hours late, we realized it was a Halloween-themed party, and we stuck out like sore thumbs.
On Sunday, I took Lily to the correct birthday party, gift in hand. It was sweltering, and my toddler began to melt down, leading us to leave early. Back home, we needed groceries, but Bee fell asleep in the car. I carried her to her room, where she napped for three hours while my stomach grumbled in protest.
When she woke, I attempted to get her in the car for groceries, but she refused and threw a tantrum in the driveway. I contemplated whether I should join in.
On Monday, I dropped Lily off at dance camp, counting my small blessings—at least her backside was clean today. But as I walked back to my car, I discovered my keys were still in her dance bag. I had to interrupt her class and face twenty curious stares while I fished them out. Rushing back to my car, I realized I had also left my phone in her bag.
After a meeting, I picked up Lily and set my phone on the roof of the car as she changed in the backseat. As I drove off, I heard a loud SWISH and a THUNK. It wasn’t until I reached the office that I realized my phone was now lost somewhere on the streets of Petaluma.
Petaluma, enjoy my expensive phone. You clearly needed it more than I do. At least I still have my wine and coffee.
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Summary:
This weekend was a series of unfortunate events for Jamie Turner, filled with pizza mishaps, toddler tantrums, and a series of embarrassing moments at coffee shops and dance studios. From lost keys to wrong parties, the chaos continued until her phone met an untimely end on the streets of Petaluma. Despite the challenges, there were small moments of joy and lessons learned about the unpredictable journey of parenthood.