The two recurring themes of my life recently seem to be stress and embarrassment. This morning, I knew the house inspector was coming with the buyers, and I was not going to get caught in an embarrassing situation. Their scheduled time was 9:00, and I had spent the entire morning getting ready for it. At 8:30, all I had left to do was clean the litter box and take a shower. Since I like to do the litter box at the last minute, I decided to shower first. Noah was playing happily with his soldiers at the kitchen table, and Sarah had a fleet of matchbox cars on the floor, so I made a mental note to have them clean all that up while I was cleaning the litter box. All under control. No stress.
Five minutes later, I'm in the steamy shower with Christmas music blasting, and I'm pretty sure I hear Sarah say, "Yes, Mommy's here. She's in the bathroom. Come on in!" Then the phone starts ringing. Ten seconds later, Sarah enters the bathroom (where I'm furiously drying off), hands me the phone, and says, "Someone wants to talk to my mommy." I seriously almost blew a gasket.
So here's the situation: the inspector and buyers are 25 minutes early, I'm naked and wet, a lady from church is on the phone, there are tiny metal vehicles all over the living room floor, the Korean War is being reenacted on the kitchen table, and there is fresh poop in the litter box. I grabbed the kids and hissed at them to clean everything up FAST! NOW!, tugged clothes over my wet body, shoved everything and everybody into the van, waved and smiled pleasantly on my way out, and took us out to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. I sat in front of the peaceful fire at Cracker Barrel and let my dripping hair dry while waiting for the food to come.
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