Yesterday did not start out well. After going to sleep more than two hours late (Thank you, Daylight Savings.), Annalyn woke up 45 minutes early.
[Side note question: Can anyone explain that phenomenon? At what age do we develop the skill of sleeping in to recover from late nights?]
So the early start turned into yelling (me) and frantic showering (me again.) and frustration over yet another chaotic morning (um, yeah, me.). Then, because I like to use stress as a reason to make poor food choices (feel free to turn away now, Losing It friends), I buzzed through the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way to take Annalyn to daycare.
This not only started my morning with 14 points under my belt (Thank you, dollar menu.), but also prompted my already cranky daughter to cry because I didn’t get her any fries.
The nerve!
It should come as no surprise, then, that I had a little – shall we say – incident in the daycare parking lot.
See, the thing is, those spots in that lot are really stinking small. And though I didn’t see it in the handbook, I’ve realized in the last three weeks that all daycare parents are required to drive SUVs or vans.
Anyway, back to my morning from, well, anyway. I found a spot and squeezed my wannabe-SUV into it. As I turned off the car, I was a tiny bit proud that I’d overcome the small spaces and SUV that was three inches over the line and a tiny bit annoyed that other people don’t know how to park.
And then I walked around to the other side of my car to get Annalyn out of her carseat. Juggling a package of diapers (Thank you, potty training FAIL.), her hat and gloves, and a sippy cup of milk, I looked up and realized that a) in my effort to maneuver around the SUV on my left, I had totally swerved into the spot of the SUV on my right, and b) the owner of that SUV on the right was standing on the sidewalk, admiring looking at my parking job in disbelief.
By that point, I’d already gotten Annalyn out of her seat. So I did the only thing I could think of and said, “Can you go stand by that lady, baby girl?”
Of course, even my small child couldn’t fit between my badly parked car and the badly parked car next to it. So we had to walk all the way around the car, stack all of our stuff on the sidewalk and say reassuringly, “Mommy will be right back. [I’m so sorry.] Just stand right here, okay? [Thanks. I do know how to park. I was trying to avoid that, oh, I’ll just move the car.] One second, baby!”
I’d like to say that’s where the humiliation ended, with me leaving my 2-year-old daughter with a stranger and backing out of a parking space.
But no. Then I had to turn a simple task – move from one parking space to another – into a 9-point turning ordeal. The other spaces were tight, too, okay? And it’s not as easy as it sounds to back up your car and re-park directly behind the original space.
[I wish I was as creative as my friend, Erin, and could provide you with a diagram at this point. I just know it would clarify any questions you might have at this point.]
Finally after at least 32 minutes (or 3.2 minutes, I’m not sure), I pulled my car safely into another space, gathered my daughter and all our stuff, apologize AGAIN to the lady who was not quite as friendly and forgiving as I’d have preferred, dropped off my kiddo, and left.
Ready to start my day. Or something.
Oh, and if you were wondering about my whole getting up early plan? Yeah. Not so much. Don’t get me wrong! It’s still a plan. And I still want to do it. But I haven’t. Not in several days.
Annnnnd this whole story JUST MIGHT be the perfect example of why I should start my mornings earlier.
I love it when I teach myself a lesson.
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