The ants go marching one by one, um, hurrah, hurrah?

It often amazes me how smoothly the world operates in the midst of my chaos. For some reason this order overwhelmed me as I was driving into town today (perhaps because everything about my day has been the exact opposite of orderly). I was oddly aware of the newly installed power poles running along the road, allowing us electricity that fuels our daily lives. Someone evaluated the need of a growing population, planned and built a new substation to supply power to that growing population, and we were not the wiser. As I passed those poles, I stayed in the right hand lane, careful not to cross the yellow line. The cars approaching also correctly followed the rules of the road. I witnessed a traffic stop by local law enforcement (I know, I am just as shocked as you that they weren't pulling me over). The vehicle they had stopped had seen the flashing lights and, as we have been trained to do, pulled over. So my question is this? Why if a million actions such as this take place seamlessly every day, allowing life to progress as it should, can I not go a full day without some sort of catastrophe?

I should have sensed that today would be "one of those days” when we were nearly late for preschool. I had calculated the extra set of hands Mark would provide when he got off this morning, but he was held over at work. My two hands working furiously could not compensate. There were lunches to pack, kids to bathe and dress, and breakfast to prepare and scarf down. We made it out the door on time, but left the house looking like a small tornado had ripped through the place.

We dropped Cora off at preschool and drove around, frantically running errands before I had to teach my first of 2 water aerobics classes (I was still sore from teaching a Power Pilates class the day before and was regretting my packed schedule). One class down, water still dripping from my bathing suit (the same bathing suit that I realized that morning had not been rinsed out the last time I taught and now had patches where the chlorine had begun to break down the fiber leaving areas on my stomach and side that were fantastically see-through), I rushed to retrieve Cora, hit the drive through to grab some lunch (sandwiches, fruit and milk, so stop judging me!) and sped on to the next class.


This particular class deserves an entry of their own, but because I will NEVER sub for this instructor again and will therefore never have this experience again, I will limit it to a paragraph. It was a Senior Splash water aerobics class. The usual instructor told me her normal class size was 10-12, so I planned my routine around that number. I arrived to find 26 eager participants, with a very broad range in age (about 20-73) and physical ability (wannabe Olympians to walker-bound). To add to the stress of trying to explain an unfamiliar routine to the hearing-aid crowd, a generator beside the pool was malfunctioning, emitting a sound equivalent to a running lawnmower with a side of nails-on-a-chalkboard the entire class. I had to scream instructions to the masses, only to hear echoes of "huh," and what," endlessly. When I was finally able to relay the instructions and the workout was in full swing, the complaints began. "Do you think you could slow it down a bit? We aren't teenagers anymore!" "I'm not even breaking a sweat! When does the hard stuff start" "Our instructor usually does it this way." "Is this how you usually teach? I don't know if my knees can handle this for another second." "Do you think you could divide the class into beginner and advanced?" "My heart rate is way above where it should be! Can we break for a minute?"

It was the longest hour in recent memory. I walked away with the belief that many are of the mindset that once you have conquered enough years of living, you feel you have earned the right to say whatever, whenever to whomever without recourse. Note to self: do not get old.

Needless to say, I left in a foul mood and was greeted by 2 cranky children, near a past-nap time meltdown. For the first time in my life, I actually had to pull the car over on the way home because the screaming was such that I had to squint and squeeze my temples to ensure my eyes would not bulge out of my head (driving in that condition might have challenged the "right side of the road" norm). I returned home, welcomed by the piles of PJs and the now crunchy oatmeal bowls still on the table where we left them.

Nap-time was a battle, dinner-time was a battle and bath-time was a battle. Mark left for work. I left my towel-wrapped daughters on the couch while I warmed up their bed-time milk and retrieved clean PJs. Passing by the front door, I noticed that ants too abide by the same lane restrictions we humans do, as they were passing me single file, in their own lane, en route to feast on the un-swept jackpot that is my kitchen floor. I did what any hostile mother on the brink would do: I took the wet/dry Vac to them, certain at this point that even the ants were mocking me with their whole orderly food gathering mission. By this time Cora had grown impatient and had gone to retrieve her milk on her own, resulting in an entire glass of milk splashed across the floor. I calmly cleaned up the accidental spill, gritting my teeth the entire time. Of course, in doing so, I gave Claire plenty of time to jump down off the couch, dash into our bedroom and poop on our floor and in our shower, step in it, and track it throughout the house. And because a situation like that requires all of your attention, Claire also had the opportunity to retrieve the other milk cup off the counter, walk it slowly to the living room, trip on the edge of the rug and dump the entire cup of milk over every inch of the coffee table (this was Cora’s version of that event. Had she not been present I would have been certain that Claire had purposefully coated the table with milk to test the “Mommy doesn’t believe in spanking” theory).

So here I sit. As I type this I am keenly aware that the world is functioning as it should be outside these walls, with everyone unaware that there is an exhausted housewife who should shower to rid her body of the souring milk/chlorine/child feces smell that she just can’t seem to shake, but will instead collapse into a tired heap in preparation for another day in paradise.

*Disclaimer: I reread this post after a full night's sleep and realized it was mostly a rant. I guess the day must have taken its toll on my mental state as well as my physical state, because in my head it sounded a lot more rational and less whiny. Oh and I am not looking for pity, it was just therapeutic to share!