When I began this blog, I committed to providing an authentic insight to my crazy life, wrought with messy, sticky honesty, but I had no idea how much material God would provide. So, I guess I’m here to remind you that you are probably having an o.k. day, unless you also dug through multiple trash cans of a public restaurant with your bare hands.
These just seem to be the kind of days I have. I wonder, do others experience these same kinds of situations, or does it just happen to me? (Write me and tell me. I really want to know!)
It started with a fun outing and playdate with the kids and some of their cousins. If given a choice, they always order their favorite play area that comes with a little ketchup on the side. So, that’s where we went. I ordered some kids’ meals with my hands full, a credit card that had been disabled, thanks to some hacker across the country somewhere, change spilling out from my wallet and onto the floor and a baby sitting on the counter - a baby who likes to push all the credit card machine buttons while I’m distracted.
I managed to get food to the first open table available. I opened various milk containers, went back for the straws I forgot, opened ketchups for everyone, cleaned up a ketchup spill, went back for another ketchup and more napkins, and, in the middle of all that, I sat my keys on the tray. I even said out loud, “That could be dangerous! I need to remember to move those!” Of course, I didn’t move those, or you wouldn’t have this story.
We were at God’s chicken house, which comes with amazing helpers (helpers? servers?) who so sweetly dump your trays for you in the trash can. My hands were completely full, as they always are, so I was more than accepting of the help.
It was about thirty minutes of eating, and cleaning up messes, and playing, before I started wondering where my keys went. (That’s thirty minutes of people throwing their food away, if you can see where this story is going.) Our play dates and I were cleaning up and ready to go. Little did we know, we weren’t going anywhere for a while. First, I had to dig through the trash cans. Such a normal day in the life of a mom, right?
I wasn’t sure which trash can our food had gone into, since I hadn’t thrown it away myself. I had to ask, and unfortunately the sweet, kind lady couldn’t remember either. So, I started with the first one, the closest one.
I put my bare hands into a trash can full of strangers’ half-eaten food, opened ketchup packets, salad dressings and smeared napkins. They were not there. Of course. So, I moved to trash can number 2. I found juice boxes and half eaten fries. I found honey mustard, barbecue sauce and soggy lettuce… but no keys. Diners were staring at me- the wild, disheveled woman digging through a trash can. Trash can number three was much the same. There was only one trash can left. I had to ask for a key to open it because it was a special, contained trash container, not open like the others.
When I saw a familiar number of kids’ meals in the very bottom of the trash, I rejoiced at the hope! There, at the bottom of the last trash can I dug in, were my keys, covered in avocado ranch and ketchup. My beautiful keys, with the free advertisement keychain! Yay!
My sister-in-law was watching the kids for me while I did all this, but I knew she was ready to go. I was so glad to tell her that we found the keys and we could finally leave.
Until I gathered up my kids and found that they had thrown the baby’s shoes behind the locked “cage” in the play area. I had to go ask an employee again for help getting me out of yet another mess.
Well, the lock is “tricky,” apparently, so the first employee had to track down a second manager who has the secret skills to unlock said gate-of-my-utter-embarrassment.
The employee opened the locked area and retrieved my child’s stinky shoes for me.
I thanked them all for their time (yet again) when the employee who struggled with the gate, bless his heart, said, “Oh that was you digging through the trash! Oh, you’re THAT woman!”
Yes, people, I’m THAT woman. You may want to choose wisely whether or not you wish to hang out with me.
Then again, maybe I’m a kindred spirit. I recently met a new mom friend who said she knew she was gonna like me when I discovered an old granola bar mashed up into every crevice of the pocket of my jeans. Maybe being “that” woman is a good thing. Maybe it means we can be friends. Maybe it means we can be a bit of a hazard together. We can laugh at each other’s mishaps, dig through trash together and rejoice in the little things – like when the keys are found, when the laundry is done for a half a second and when we put on makeup. Just know that if I am willing to dig through the trash for myself, I’m willing to dig through the trash for you, too. I may be a mess sometimes, but let’s just be a mess together.
I’m THAT woman. Wanna hang out?
