Let's surprise Daddy.

Ok. So it all went down yesterday. I'd have written it then but at the time I just didn't have the stomach for it.
The email subject read: Big Tool Sale. Whenever Matt goes away for a while I like to try and find him something special to surprise him with when he gets home (besides the kids' recent growth spurts). So I clicked on the ad and read that the national Guard armory across town was having a big sale on all things manly. This is perfect! I thought as I read over the driving directions and (fifty minutes later- a new record) threw the kids in the car. We were off. Now I've always been... unique in my navigational abilities. It's been speculated that I was born without that particular portion of my brain. But I was motivated, for Heaven's sake, and we were going to make this happen.
I still maintain that the three and a half hour detour was the fault of the five different idiots I asked for directions. Meanwhile Gabe had pooped (again), and was desperate to stop for a third feeding. (Or was it a fourth?) Anyway, we eventually made it to the armory. I unloaded the boys in the pouring rain that hadn't let up since we left the house and we made our way up the grass and into the building. I saw the bathroom and my bladder just about leaped out of me and ran to it by itself (I'm nursing the baby so by this time I had drunk just over two liters of water), but I pulled it back in and assured it we'd go before we left. I didn't have the energy to handle the two-kids-in-the-bathroom-while-I'm-trying-to-pee scenario.
Now, I'm no novice when it comes to tools. Growing up I had "helped" my parents remodel house after house all by ourselves, becoming experts on every project imaginable. (This is where my mother would insert the infamous quote of mine, "Ugh! I am so tired of watching you guys work!"- but whatever, I was their slave.) Anyway, I know a thing or two about tools. Or, I thought I did.
We walked inside and the deeper I got into the place the more confused I got. There are seriously 58 different heads for a screwdriver? What would you need 300 drill bits for? What the crap is a rotary-gurter? (Okay, I made that last one up.) The point is I had never heard of most of these things in my life. Most were big machines, I guess for woodwork or cars or something. Clearly I had no clue. But Jesse, helpful boy that he is, was very interested in helping me pick things out and put them in my basket. I guess two year olds have a sense about these things. So to keep his hands busy I handed him a kite on sale for $1.99. Like a good kid he carried it around and it held his attention fairly well. So I'm combing through the rows, shelf after shelf, clueless as to what Matt could use. That was until I saw it. It was perfect! A two piece set, one chair thingy with wheels on the bottom, and one of those things you lay down on to slide under the car to break things and get all greasy. I yelled behind me to Jesse to get out of the people's way for the 16th time and I thought, Let's get out of here.
I felt good; I had found the gift. Then, Crap. We don't have a garage. It just wouldn't be the same trying to use these things on the gravel driveway. Oh well. At least I had found a headlight for Jesse's bike that I knew he'd love, and an emergency crank-powered radio/ flashlight/ cell phone charger. I'd been meaning to pick up some things like that anyway and besides, it was the church's message this month to prepare for a disaster. Consider this purchase justified. And maybe it would ease my anxiety over the upcoming hurricane season.
I'm still having hormone issues from my last pregnancy so I used my shirt to blot up some of the sweat falling down my back, then readjusted the hundred-pound baby I'd been carrying for the last six confusing hours, and made my way, dripping, to the checkout. As I approached the counter I actually looked at Jesse for the first time in way too long, and saw that all that remained of the kite he was carrying was the plastic stick from the center and the crinkly wrapper, which I handed to the man to ring up. The guy in line behind me, seeing the situation and hearing my sigh, told me he thought he had seen one of the kite pieces on aisle whatever. I thanked him, but didn't have the energy to corral my herd back through the store to find it. I payed for everything and headed for the exit, realizing too late that I couldn't get back through to the bathroom without going all the way around the front of the store and going back inside. I unfastened my belt and fly to relieve some of the bladder pressure, pulled my shirt down, and went to the car. After nursing the baby (again) I got the kids all strapped down- oh, I mean buckled in- and threw my junk in the trunk.
I drove away, looking for a good place to stop and pee before heading back to whatever freeway had finally brought me there. Then, off in the distance, I saw a heavenly light: the Dairy Queen. I've become addicted to their latest dessert despite my recent pathetic attempts at losing weight. So we passed it (of course, there's that navigational brilliance again) and managed to turn around and pull in. Only I was confused. (I'm getting used to that feeling.) I circled the building and saw only a staff entrance and a window where the dairy queen herself was leaning out helping a man standing outside. I parked the car and Yippie, the rain let up! The kids and I strolled up to the window and I asked how to get to the potty, and the Queen told me that location was walk-up only, no entrance. Are you kidding me? Oh well, we were starved after driving around lost all day so I ordered the special dessert and some fries and- what? That location serves ice cream only. Of course it does. So I told myself Eh, ice cream is like milk, which is good for you, so, great. "Here's my card." We got to the benches and sat down on the wet seats, just in time for the rain to start up again. No problem; we'd just take it to the car. Jesse jumped in a big puddle on the way there and soaked himself from the waist down. I pulled him onto my lap in the front seat, with Gabe in the back. He pretended to drive while we started sharing the sundae, and Wham. The kite stick came whipping across the ice cream, splattering it all over the car interior. I couldn't find any words. Oh well. I silently cleaned it up along with Jesse's face as best I could with the four cheap napkins I got from the Queen, and set the nearly-full cup of melted ice cream on the front passenger floor. I've got to remember to grab that out when we stop to pee before it spills all over the car. New plan: I'll just spill it while trying to wrangle Jesse into the car seat. Then I remembered the paper towels my mother (thanks, Mom!) so wisely stashed in the back. I did my best with the spill and we set out to drive thirty seconds down the road to the dirty bathroom at Burger King. I nearly burst as I grabbed the boys and ran into the stall and barely avoided an "accident." Jesse then punched the stall door open and it swung and smacked into the carrier of the formerly-sleeping Gabriel. I shrugged it off, buttoned my pants and attempted to change Jesse's diaper while he was standing, since there was no changing table and the floor looked completely nasty. He must have thought so too, cause he didn't even hesitate to empty his bladder all over it between the time I removed the first diaper and managed to apply the second one. He immediately bent over and splashed the pee everywhere before I could grab his hands, and Of course there are no paper towels. I looked toward the sink at the useless hand dryer and knew I'd have to sacrifice the baby's blanket. I wondered if I should risk letting go of Jesse's hands and try to wash us up, then thought Yeah, right, and wiped his hands on his pants, surprising even myself with this new low. We headed to the car, having forgotten completely to wipe up the floor pee. I spent fairly little time lost entirely, and drove home, determined to put the entire day out of my mind. Maybe I should stop trying to... do stuff.