My no good, very bad day

My day has given every indication to me that it is going to be a terrible one, and yet I have ignored every sign thrown my way to just crawl back into bed and start again tomorrow. A costly error.


My day started in a panic, as Dan informed me that he had gone back to sleep after the alarm went off and we were now about 30 minutes behind schedule to get Addison to a doctor's appointment. Score one for me-- I showered last night, anticipating little getting-ready time, although I obviously hadn't realized HOW little. We pulled together and were walking out the door a mere minute later than we had planned-- as we're leaving, the fire alarm for our building starts to go off.


Side note-- our fire alarm frequently cries wolf. Not sure why it does this, but it's scary to have a fire alarm that no one takes seriously. About a week and a half ago, while I was in PA, my husband had to go outside and sit on the curb at 1:30 in the morning because it was going off. It is the kind of fire alarm that makes your ear drums want to burst, and no matter what room you're in, it is still the loudest, most painful shrieking sound you've ever heard. I'd rather have an actual fire truck parked in our living room with its siren blaring.


Anyway, we exchanged annoyed quips with our neighbor down the hall (taking his obviously noise-sensitive dog outside to escape-- no word on the infant also sharing that apartment) and drove Addison to her appointment. This, fortunately, went as usual-- she screamed her way through a lot of the measurements and the shots, but was relatively pleasant for the rest.


After the appointment, Addison napped for about an hour and a half while Dan and I hung out and ate lunch. Dan had to leave at about 12:30 to go to school, leaving me at home with a grumpy toddler (and a grumpy self.) He took the car that currently has the car seat, after I assured him several times that I would not be going anywhere.


Around 2:00, the fire alarm went off AGAIN. Addison starts wigging out and I have no choice but to start bundling her up to take her outside. At this point, a plan starts to form in my head-- I'll walk to the city to get the car! That way, if the alarm is still on when I return, we can just drive to a store and walk around! Excellent thinking! It's cold, but not too cold, and not windy-- it'll be fantastic! I strapped Addison into her buggy without a single thought to the prior events of the day, or how everything was almost guaranteed to go wrong.


About 15 minutes into our walk, Addison dropped her blankie. I didn't notice until we had walked about 100 feet away from it-- I had to go back and pick it up. Blankie is now dirty, but we keep on going, crisis averted, still with no thought in my mind that this might be a good time to turn back and give up on this idea.


About 35 minutes after we left the house, we arrive at the parking garage. I confidently take the elevator to the 4th floor, knowing Dan is a creature of habit and that he will be parked in the same spot he always parks in.


Wrong.


The car was not on the 4th level, so I got back in the elevator and went down to the 3rd. Still no. So I walked all the way down to the bottom and then made my way back up, level by level, pressing the panic button on my keys.


The car was on the 5th floor. Which I should have known-- creature-of-habit Dan would have driven to the 4th floor and, failing to find a spot, would have driven up to the next level. Creature-of-habit Dan would never have taken a closer spot.


I strapped Addison into the car seat, tossed the buggy in the back seat, and sat down in the drivers seat. At this moment, what should have been a sigh of relief was replaced with a feeling of dread as I realized a crucial piece of information that had escaped me all this time-- Dan no longer kept his parking pass in the car. It was on his lanyard with his badge for his school, because he kept leaving it in the wrong car when he'd switch vehicles.


I burst into tears. I called Dan's phone repeatedly, hoping the vibration in his bookbag would be audible enough for him to sneak out of class and answer. Fortunately, on the third call, he answered. He listened to my whole story and, probably because he realized I was already in tears, he was very kind and without a hint of annoyance in his voice informed me to stay in the car and he'd bring me the parking pass.


About 10 minutes later he arrived. I drove him back to the school, telling my story AGAIN, and promised to drop everything and pick him up whenever he called to tell me he was ready.


Fortunately when we arrived home, the fire alarm was off. I think I may have blown up the building if that alarm was still blaring.


Adding salt to the wound, however-- with Addison in my arms, I stopped to get the mail on my way into the apartment. A mailer full of coupons fell out, and all of the coupons scattered. Being a consciencious person, I picked up all of the junk mail, muttering the entire time and trying not to drop my toddler or my keys.

Things can only get better.... right?

The Joys of Fall

For many people, the thought of "fall" reminds us of times when we were young, running around in our backyard or at the park, red-cheeked, laughing, jumping into piles of leaves.... and then there's Addison.

Addison and I recently came back to Pennsylvania for a 2-week visit, getting our stuff settled in and situated for our impending move to the area while my husband finishes grad school. Excited at the thought of being able to take my daughter outside to play (we currently live in a large city in Massachusetts, which doesn't allow for a lot of outdoor exploration), I got her all suited up on a mild fall day and took her outside. I believe her expression in this first photo betrays her true feelings about the season, the outdoors, and the leaves on the ground.

Another day, we went to the middle school where my father-in-law teaches, and on our way back to the car, Addison was trying desperately to pick up the leaves that had fallen on the walkway and move them back into the grass where, in her mind, they belonged. I finally had to carry her out to the car, fearing that we would never make it there if she was left to her own devices.

After her nap, I took her outside to try again. My dad was home from work for the day, and was more than willing-- even eager-- to jump into piles of leaves with his grandchild. I hope he enjoyed playing in the leaves himself, because Addison was less than thrilled with this turn of events, as demonstrated by the following images:

My diva-princess-girlygirl was very upset, even appalled, by the bits of leaves that were clinging to her coat, pants, and shoes, and painstakingly removed every tiny leaf fragment as quickly as she could. She watched in horror as my Dad buried himself in leaves, covering his hair, face, shirt, and pants. She kept muttering "no! no!" and trying desperately to free herself from the pile without actually having to touch anything.

I'm beginning to get the feeling that, if she doesn't get over this "I don't want to be messy" thing, I'll be seeing a repeat of last winter: