I woke up last Saturday morning feeling thrilled to finally catch a break and spend quality time with my children. Everyone was home — my son was off work, and they didn’t need to go to their dad’s house until later. I was looking forward to indulging in some Christmas cookies I had baked and thought it would be nice to treat the kids to lunch.
While I was enjoying a warm shower, lost in my thoughts, my eldest son popped his head in to tell me he was heading to the store for gas for the snowblower. A wave of relief washed over me — a sensation that comes and goes since my divorce. It hits when everything seems to be going smoothly, making me feel like I’m managing life well (though we know that feeling lasts about 24 hours, so I soak it in).
Feeling it was the perfect day for a deep-conditioning treatment, I slathered some delightful-smelling cream into my hair and continued to count my blessings under the warm water.
But that bliss only lasted a few moments, as my youngest burst into the bathroom, frantically claiming that his brother had accidentally hit one of our cherished pet ducks, and we needed to rush to the vet right away.
Now, you should know that my youngest is the family’s prankster and often makes up stories to get a reaction from me, so I hesitated at first. However, seeing him in tears made it clear that something was wrong.
I quickly jumped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself, and stepped outside to find my second child in distress. Standing in the driveway, I felt like an absurd character from a holiday movie, wearing a tiny robe and tall fuzzy boots, with wet hair plastered to my head.
Feathers littered the driveway, my son’s truck was still running, and there lay our sweet duck, lifeless with her feet sticking up. We stood together, shivering in the cold, sharing our grief.
Once we managed to pull ourselves together and come back inside, we faced the task of defeathering, which only made my kids cry even more. My son was distraught — it was an accident, and he wanted to make amends. After we gave the duck a little farewell, I realized I was close to freezing, so I convinced the kids to go out for lunch anyway. “Getting out will help us feel better, and we can start searching for a new duck while we eat,” I told them.
They agreed, and we drove to our favorite fast food joint where I stress-ate my fries and most of the kids’ fries too. After a good hour of chatting, it was time to drop them off with their father. We decided to adopt a new duck since our remaining one was bonded with her sibling, so I had a lot to accomplish while they were away, including my holiday shopping and wrapping gifts without their curious eyes.
On my way home, I suddenly felt a familiar discomfort in my stomach. Panic set in as I realized I might not make it home in time. Gripping the wheel tighter and speeding didn’t help.
Oh no, not now! Why did I eat so many fries?
Then, out of the blue, my daughter called. She wanted to remind me about her retainers, which she’d wrapped in a napkin and left in the center console. “You didn’t throw them away, did you?”
But I had. I remembered tossing all the trash before we left. At that moment, I knew what I had to do: I had to go back and sift through the fast food trash can. Some might have left the retainers behind, but a single mom of three doesn’t just let that happen. She digs through the trash until she retrieves that expensive mouthpiece.
I practically spun into the parking lot, driven by my urgent need. I didn’t even pause for the mile-long drive-thru line. I womaned up and plunged into that trash can.
I quickly found our bag but didn’t have time to be delicate. I couldn’t risk a disaster while digging through the bag. I grabbed my mask and dashed into the empty dining area to find a restroom, clutching the bag tightly.
I made it just in time, thanking the heavens for my clean underwear — no embarrassing moments today! But as I reached for toilet paper, I discovered there was none.
With a sense of urgency, I dashed to the other stall, only to find it was also out of order. I considered my options: pull up my pants, wash my hands, and ask for toilet paper, but there were only two men at the counter and a slew of customers at the drive-thru. I couldn’t face anyone in that state. So, like any resourceful woman, I rummaged through my purse, used every spare mask I had, and left for home to devour a dozen cookies.
Yes, we survived that chaotic day, but the lesson learned is that a day can be utterly miserable without anything particularly terrible happening. It was just one of those days that takes a while to recover from. Even now, my nerves (and stomach) haven’t quite settled back down.
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Summary:
This humorous recounting of a chaotic Saturday showcases the ups and downs of parenting, illustrating how a seemingly ordinary day can spiral into a series of unfortunate events. From losing a beloved pet to a frantic dash to retrieve retainers from the trash, the story highlights the resilience and resourcefulness of a single mother navigating life’s unpredictable challenges.
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