At Least My Eyebrows Are on Fleek

We've planned a wee getaway to Florida at the end of May.  This might not surprise anyone since I'm clearly crazy, and only crazy people vacation in Florida in June.  We just wanted to get away for a bit, with the kids, and Hell was already booked SOLID (there is an election happening in the States, in case you haven't been privy to the news lately) so we figured we'd go to the next hottest place.

Husband, who is always full of details and planning said to me last week, "Uh, the kids should get passports eh?"

Me:  No, we can drive across at Detroit, and all anyone under 16 needs is a birth certificate.
Husband:  Still.
Me:  Still what? We don't have time to get passports.
Husband:  Still, we can pay for them to be expedited.  I'd feel better if we had them.
Me:  You would.  Then are you going to get them?
Husband:  Well, no.
Me:  (silence)  Gotcha.

So we got a bunch of pictures done, for $18.99 (each!!) at Shopper's Drug Mart.  I filled out the forms in Sharpie and got our guarantor to sign everything.  We were ready to go.  Only I kept forgetting to put them in the car, or I'd get them in the car and not have all the forms, or the pictures would be gone or yeah.  I just couldn't quite get everything in the car at the same time.

It was hilarious until Bungee, the wonder pup, came trotting inside after rolling in a trough of mud and slid himself all over the fallen papers.  I would've been more pissed but I knew I could redo the forms.   Oh, that was until I noticed Kiddo #1's picture glued to Bungee's muddy belly.  I glanced around for Kiddo #2's pictures and they were scattered on the floor, but safe.

I shrieked, which scared Bungee, the wonder pup, and then he refused to let me near him.  Rolling and dodging like a greased pig, even Rizzo, our old Jack Russell, got into the action and tried to herd the puppy for me.  By the time I got everything cleaned off, there was no using the $40 pictures or the free forms.  Fan-frickin'-tastic.

But see, that was early April, before we'd booked an actual trip.  Now, we sorta should have them, and have a trip coming up in 3 weeks, and I could NOT ask our guarantor to do all that nonsense again.  I mean, a girl has pride.

And, I couldn't stomach paying another $40 for stupid pictures, less than a month later, because of the damn dog and the damn me.  Plus, before, the $40 came out of our life-budget.  This new $40 cost would inevitably come out of my Target budget.

This could not stand!

I decided, instead, to take the kids out of school the next day, bring along Husband's 95-year-old Grandmother (who is my BFF and unbelievably cool) to be the guarantor, and badda-boom, I could get the pictures at Costco on the way to the passport office.  $7.99 a kid.

I am a money saving mastermind.  Until we get to Target, but whatever.

We drove the 45 minutes from our house to Costco listening to the children, who are normally happy and laughing, bitch and moan about EVERYTHING.

They didn't like the music. They didn't like each other singing. They didn't like my singing (!), it was too hot, too cold, too fast, too slow.  He's on my side.  She's on my side.  You're BOTH gonna be OUTside if you don't stop it NOW!   GAAAAAH!

The only solace was the GG (Great-Grandma) needed a new battery in her hearing aids so she could only FEEL the tension and not hear it.

We got out at Costco and I whisper-threatened the children to stop sucking.  (I think that's possibly exactly what I said, because 45 minutes of whining and bitching makes me a little crazy and there might have even been a low-grade swear in there, too, but I blocked it out)

The children marched like they were being held at gunpoint (SUCH drama) into Costco and we waited while two workers chatted by the gigantic printer for 10 minutes.  After huffing, then remembering that these women weren't the reason I was cranky, I settled down and calmly waited for someone to help us.

Costco Person:  Hello.
Me:  Hi.  I need some passport photos taken?
Costco Person:  I can't do that today.  I can take the pictures, but I cannot print them. There is something wrong with our printer.  I can print them tomorrow.
Me:  That does not help me.
Costco Person: I'm sorry.

So, I shuffled my people back in the car amidst cries of "Are we going home then?" and "What's going on?" and "What will we do now?"  And, of course, then I had to repeat all my answers nicely when GG asked them because her hearing aids weren't working.

Since there's a Staples near the Costco, I drove across the parking lot and tried there.  I was nearly run over by a lady in a blue spring jacket on her way out the door.  Thankfully, GG and the children were miles behind me because they would've been mowed down by the blue-jacket lady if they'd been closer.

As an aside:  I think they were miles behind me because when I get annoyed I walk like MURDER and no one can keep up.  Or maybe no one wants to? Jury is still out.  

I got up to the copy station at Staples and said "Do you take passport photos here?"

The lady behind the counter said "No, I'm afraid not-- that's what the last lady was here for, too!  I told her Superstore does them."

Clearly I'm not heading to Superstore now, because that running blue-jacket lady is already there, getting in my way, and slowing me down.

I smile and thank the Staples lady and turn around.  Luckily, the kids and GG were just getting to the door, so I turned them around (again) and shuffled them all back in the car amidst cries of "Are we going home then?" and "What's going on?" and "What will we do now?"  And, of course, then I had to repeat all my answers nicely when GG asked them because her hearing aids weren't working.

I got in the car.

Frankly, I was about .01 milliseconds from turning around and just trying again another day when the phone rang. It was the school.  They wanted to know where my kids are.

Me:  I'm getting them passports so they're with me.
School:  Ok.  So they'll be back tomorrow?
Me:  Well, I hope so. If this takes more than 24 hours I'm going to be very unhappy.  hahaha
School:  (silence)  Ok.

I thought that was a pretty good joke, but maybe my delivery was off since I was trying not to SCREAM AT MY KIDS again for being buttholes in the backseat.  I turned my head all the way around, like that girl from the Exorcist, and covered my kids in pea soup.  Then I spoke to them in tongues.  Shit was getting serious.

Then I had to repeat all the threats to GG because her hearing aids weren't working.
Sweet Steinem.

Gripping my steering wheel on this highway to hell, I sweetly sang that we'd stop at the first Shopper's Drug Mart we came across en route to the passport office.  I no longer cared what the extra $$ saved would buy me in Target.  No, that's not true.  I cared a lot.

Me:  YOU two WILL stop being JERKS right now, or YOU WON'T NEED A PASSPORT because I'M LEAVING YOU in Windsor on the SIDE OF THE ROAD, TODAY.

"We're getting passport photos TODAY."

We Tokyo drift into the Shopper's drive way and everyone got out and kissed the pavement.  I walked swiftly, like an evil queen, to the back of the store to the photo department. I waited. I looked around.  There was no one to be found.

I walked to the pharmacy and said "Hey, can you page someone to the photo department please?"  and I was assured there was a big, red button I was supposed to ring to call someone.  It's on the desk.

I go back and now the kids are in the store. I know this because I can hear whining and giggle-slapping happening.  I press the button.  A hardly-audible "Assistance is needed in ... PHOTO" came over the speakers.  I waited.

I waited.

Several minutes went by. I pushed the button again, AND I told the kids to find anyone who worked there and bring them to me.  I stopped at telling them to have the employees' hearts in a box, but just barely.

Finally a kid comes out of the back wearing one of those I'm-unloading-cargo-from-a-truck coats, and heads to me.  He, without a word, gets the camera out of the locked door, takes Kiddo #1's picture 5 different times, and then goes to the printer.  He unplugs about 50 things, replugs-in about 34 of them, finds a new cord to fit the camera, prints the pictures on the slowest printer ever and then takes Kiddo #2's picture.

Did I mention that there's an alarm clock that Kiddo #2 has found? Oh, it's a Minion's alarm clock.  It is SO CUTE because every time you press any of the buttons, it makes adorable Minion sounds like "AHHHHHHH!" and "BA-dah-dooo-bee" and "wee-noo-wee-noo-wee-noo" and farts and just SO many great sounds.  It's AMAZING.

Cargo guy hands me over two pictures of Kiddo #1.

The angle is so severe in the first one that all I see are nostrils and about 4 chins.  She also looks transparent because the light is clearly too harsh for her.  The second one is beautiful, but she's still transparent.  I don't even want to see Kiddo #2's pictures.

Swallowing a rage that could melt the skin off his body, I say, "I'm pretty sure these aren't going to be acceptable."

  Play this video while you read the dialogue below to get an idea of the alarm clock from hell.

Cargo Guy: I don't see why not?
Kiddo #2:  MOM! CAN I get this MINION CLOCK!
Me:  (silence)  Well, the guidelines are here in my hand...  She looks like an xray.  Also, in this one that is all nostrils, she looks like she's a ghost from a hip hop album.
Kiddo #2: MOM!  The Clock is AMAZING. I need it.
Cargo Guy:  Oh.  Well, someone broke the light last night.  The settings are all off.
Kiddo #2: Listen to all the sounds it makes!  I love Minions.
Me:  So, we've been here for 30 minutes and you knew this wasn't going to work?
Kiddo #2:  BAAAHAAAHAA This clock is hilarious!
Cargo Guy: Well, I figured maybe it was just the person using it yesterday. But nope. It's broken.  You should drive to Tecumseh. They can do it there, and it's cheaper.
Kiddo #2: Can I get the CLOCK!?  I can pay YOU BACK!
Me:  Thanks. (to Kiddo #2)  If you touch another button on that clock ... extremely bad things are going to happen in your life.
Kiddo #2:  (after pressing the button) Oops!  Sorry!  I didn't mean to Mom.  My finger just did it by itself.
Me:  Regulators:  Mount up!

I turned the kids and GG around (again) and shuffled them all back in the car (again) amidst cries of "Are we going home then?" and "What's going on?" and "What will we do now?"  And, of course, then I had to repeat all my answers nicely when GG asked them because her hearing aids weren't working (again).   We could've bought hearing aid batteries in Shoppers while we were there, but they were a bazillion dollars more than anywhere else.

I'm sure we could go to Tecumseh and find them cheaper there, too. However, Tecumseh is in the opposite direction and I had an ace in the hole.  Yes.  (I had two ace-buttholes in the backseat, but also I had an ace-in-the-hole)

In the bottom of the building where the passport office is, there's a guy who charges all sorts of money to take passport photos.  I knew all along that if we couldn't get them done before we got there, there'd still be one more chance.

Downtown Windsor we went, parked 5k from the passport office because, hey, why wouldn't we? My children played this cute game called "Let's Show GG That Our Mom Never Taught Us How to Be Civilized" and I tried not to have a complete brain bleed over the stress.

Husband assures me he would've turned around at the Staples no-go, by the way.  I'm not sure who the smarter one is yet.

I looked at my passport and thought Eff-this.  I'm renewing mine again because I can't go through this again until I'm almost 50.

We got in line behind a couple in their 70's wearing Tilly hats.  "Bucket List?" I asked.  They smiled and said "Yes!  Africa!"  I smiled and we chatted while I thought of all the ways I could silence my children if I was an X-Man.  Finally it was our turn.  Kiddo #1 sat, Kiddo #2 stood, and I sat.

We waited with GG while Africa-couple got their pictures.  I filled out the passport renewal form the picture guy had at his kiosk, and the kids did ... I have no clue. I pretended to be engrossed in my form so I wouldn't have to have a stroke from watching them misbehave.

And then the hipster behind us got his pictures. And so did the old man who was bringing his young-but-old looking kid with him.  Then someone new showed up to work at the camera place and this girl and the guy who took our pictures had a loud conversation about the "new program" and how slow it is and how you need new cords to plug in ... and I started to sweat.  I had been trying to calm myself down by thinking of kittens and rainbows and the PTSD from this morning's cord issues snapped me out of my reverie.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

Guy Who Takes Pictures:  Uh, Ma'am?
Me:  Yes.
Guy Who Takes Pictures:  Uh, we're going to have to take all your pictures again.  I pressed the wrong button and deleted them.

I believe if you were to acquire the building security tapes of that exact moment, you would witness my evolution from mere mortal to mutant.  The amount of stress in my body regarding these fucking pictures was equivalent to what they put Wade Wilson through to make him overheat and transform into Deadpool.

I am now an Xman.
Xwoman.
Xbeyoncé.

Just call me Triple X.
Wait.  That's taken?
Ok. How about Xexy?  Dead Xexy.  Mee-ooow.

I marched the children into the camera place.  Kiddo #1 had her picture taken.  Kiddo #2 had his picture taken, and I sat down, like MURDER.  When the photographer joked "Don't smile" I frowned harder.

We then had to wait another 15 minutes before they found the cord to plug the new computer into the old camera or printer or both? Ooooh, it was in his pocket the whole time, hahahaaaa.

He handed me the pictures in a wee baggie with Kiddo #1 on top.  She, for the record, looks lovely.  I, for the record, do not give any shits at this point.  It is now 11:45.  We have been trying to get pictures taken for almost two hours, and if you count the drive to Windsor, we've been trying to get passports for 3 hours.  Eve Ensler take the wheel.

The children, who can sense that I've evolved and don't want to be on the receiving end of me testing out what powers I have, have settled down.  The four of us amble into the the smallest elevator I've ever seen.  We press the button and go up.  My stomach flips when we start and stop.  Clearly this elevator was built when Jesus was on his world tour (before he was a susperstar, and was just a humble carpenter, of course).

We got out into a tiny hallway, walked to the first open guichet (what is the word for guichet in English?  There are some words that I had to get rid of to make room for French, and for other things like calendars and typing).

Honest to Saturn, we were in and out of that  passport office in under 6 minutes.  

I hardly had time to sit down before our number was called! It was incredible.  It was the most efficient government agency I've ever been to.  Bar none!

Now, of course, the downside to all that, is that I didn't have time to go through the passport pictures until I was at the second guichet. (someone let me know what that word is in English, kk?)

I pulled the six pictures out so GG could sign the children's.  I gave her Kiddo #1's pictures.  She signed them.  I gave her Kiddo #2's pictures.  She signed them.

I looked at my pictures.  I FOR SURE had a brain bleed. Like, uh, WHO in the HELL is the murdering-serial-killer in my pictures???

Without a word of hyperbole, I know I will be pulled over at every boarder crossing for the next 10 years.  Oh yes, I'd already paid for the 10 year super-fucking-long passport so I wouldn't have to renew it/go through this again for a while.

My eyes look like murder. Also, one is bigger than the other one.  My hair looks crazy and fluffy. My mouth looks like I have a handle bar moustache.  I look puffy and fat and have about 56 chins.

Apparently rage swells a person.  As does evolution.


Oh, but here's how I know I am actually a mutant from the Xmen nation and/or I am an evil queen:  My eyebrows are fleek as fuck.  Seriously, they're mad perfect.  And then I remember that the more crazy and evil you are, the better your eyebrows are.  Just ask Cruella DeVille and Maleficent.

The fleek of my eyebrows aside, awesomeness of my passport pictures is only surpassed by the fact it's now noon and everyone in my car is hangry.  And now, as if waiting for its own personal invitation, my car won't start.

I take a deep breath.  The sky darkens and the wind picks up.  I exhale and the sky goes black.  Hail begins hitting the roof.

GG: I think it's really going to storm!
Kids: Mom! What's going on!
Me:  Just trying to get to 1.21 Gigawatts...

This time the car started perfectly.
Ok, I showed it my passport and threatened it.  Whatever works, right?

Those eyebrows though?!?

Tales from the Grocery Store

I know I am not alone in spending altogether too  much time in the grocery store.  I know this because I  often see friends and family members there many days in a row, too.

This weekend was a unique turning point in my life, however, and I think I might avoid the grocery store as much as possible from now on.  Wait, like, I mean, make more of an effort to only go to the grocery store once or twice (max!) a week.

See, on Saturday, we needed to go to the grocery store because we were invited over to a friends' home for dinner.  I offered to bring something, which I had good intentions of actually doing, but the reality of fulfilling my offer was going to require a trip to Ye Olde Grocers.  Stat.

I took Kiddo#2 with me because I'm trying to like, engage him in cooking.  His life goal right now seems to be consuming food, so I figure if I teach him to fish, I won't have to spend my entire fricking life inventing meals to feed his quenchless stomach.

Or something like that.

Anyway, we pulled up to the grocery store, and he skipped ahead to get a cart.  He raced it around the corner and ran over my heels.  Rage flashed in my eyes, but I decided not to pick him up and Hulk Smash him into oblivion.

I'm not sure why I was so benevolent; perhaps it was the coffee in my hand and the caffeine in my bloodstream, perhaps it was that I'd just awoken from a nice Saturday nap so I had more mercy than usual, but my son was neither launched to Mars, nor ripped from the driver's position on the cart.

Today was a good day.

We started down he produce section, picking up some good stuff here and there when Kiddo #2 said "What if the thing Pyper wants for her birthday is in the toy section?"  So, I thought we'd head over to the toys to placate my son and also allow me to peruse the clothing section since my kids are both 2 inches taller than they were before the sun returned to Canada this week.

We stopped by (insert some crazy toy that I won't buy because it's literally $35 and made of plastic) and ran into a friend I hadn't seen in a very long time.  We started to catch up when my son decided to drive the cart up and down some aisles nearby to fill the time.  Somewhere between "I can't believe how big your daughter is now!" and "I'm an artist! I know, crazy and cool right?"  it occurred to me that Kiddo #2 hadn't come down our aisle in several minutes.  Possibly 10.

The normal mother would panic that someone had not only stolen her child, but all her friggin' groceries too...  I, instead, slowly walked the store.  Every slow-turning cart was anticipated and scorned when it was only some oldster who didn't know how to drive anymore.

As I was about to give up on finding him, I ran back into that friend.  I jokingly said "I'm sure he's being detained for trying to finish shopping without a grown-up."  when "We have a Code Adam.  A Code Adam.  Looking for a... uh, ... woman?  Black top, jeans, black and teal hair and sparkle shoes."

Jayzus Cripes.  

Doing a much faster and older version of the walk of shame, (and this time without having my panties in my pocket) I walked to customer service.  There he was.  Kiddo #2, with our full cart of groceries (including some he'd picked up because he knew we needed them, and surprisingly there wasn't even one package of Oreos in the cart?!).

Kiddo #2.
Full grocery cart.
Standing with a check-out lady who was judging me as though my panties really were in my pocket and it was 5am...

I inhaled deeply and smiled.  With a sing-song voice, I called over "Oh Kiddo #2!  You are so independent!"

If the entire cast of Annie had appeared singing "Hard Knock Life" it would have been only slightly less awkward.

Check-out Lady:  Oh! You must be the teal-haired mother!
Me:  (smiling and trying to look like they didn't need to call CAS) Yes.
CoL:  He tried to check out but he said he didn't have your points card...
Me:  Ha! Oh, Kiddo #2!  You know we're working on saving enough points to buy the store! hahaha
CoL:  I thought I would have him wait here.  For you.
Me:  Well, thank you!
CoL:  It's just that most 5-year olds aren't doing the grocery shopping.
Me:  Well, we're highly evolved in my house. I'm training him to be the next Wolverine.
CoL:  And he has your cell phone.
Me: Yes, I figured that out when I tried to call him on it.
CoL:  Well kids are so wonderful. It would be a shame to ...
Me:  I know! I agree!  I think he's the bees' knees!  I am as surprised by this as you are, let me tell you.
CoL: ...it's just that we've never had to call a Code Adam on a ... mother ... before...
Kiddo#2:  So do you have your points card ready or what Mom?

I checked out as quickly as I could while joking and using big words to try and redeem myself.  Also I told her my name was Regina Philangi, so that will likely help.  I called Kiddo #2 Frank Jr. Jr. and Chandler, randomly, to make it seem like maybe he was one of the triplets Phoebe had on the 100th episode of Friends. It would be just vague enough a memory that it could be real, right?

We got the gift card for the movies (which is turning into our standard birthday gift, randomly, because I hate giving STUFF to kids anymore) and left.  We dropped Kiddo #2 off at his birthday party and I made a delicious fruit salad for the dinner party thing, with the perfectly ripe fruit Kiddo #2 had chosen while he finished our grocery shopping. So much winning!

Then today, I picked up Kiddo #1 from a playdate (do kids have playdates at age 8? or is it just like, playing?) and realized we had nothing in the fridge for lunches for Monday.

"I hate all the things." 

In retrospect, I should've suspected something was up by the way she sat with her arms folded across her chest and a "I hate all the things" look on her face.

We got out of the car, got a cart. Once we had just enough items in the cart that I couldn't just abandon ship and flee the store, pretending she hadn't said anything, Kiddo #1 said "Mom. I just feel so BAD about all the animals that have to DIE so we can eat."

Jayzus Cripes.

Fuck you, grocery store

Me:  Oh?
Kiddo #1: It's just like, that these animals live these lives and then one day, they're killed just to make food for us.
Me:  Ok.
Kiddo #1:  Well, it's not fair. And it's probably gross.
Me:  Ok.
Kiddo #1:  I mean, like, look at this wall of like, meat.  It's really big and like, animals had to die to get here.
Me:  Yes.  That's what happened to the animals that are in here.
Kiddo #1: I mean, like, what about the babies? Like, who raises the babies?
Me:  (truly trying to decide whether this is the right time to pull up Fast Food Nation/The Jungle on my phone, or whether this can wait until like, NOT TODAY.)  Well, I guess it depends on the animal.
Kiddo #1: I think we shouldn' t eat meat anymore.
Me: Remember when we didn't eat meat? It was a good time. We were vegan for almost a year.
Kiddo #1:  I remember that.
Me:  Well, the treatment of the animals was part of the reason we did that.
Kiddo #1:  ... Don't forget we need cheese.
Me: (pause) ... well, if you're really thinking of not doing meat... then we should probably not to cheese either.
Kiddo#1:  Why not?
Me:  Well, because you know how when a woman has a baby and makes milk for the baby?
Kiddo #1:  Yeah. But that's ok because she's making it.
Me: Well, it's kinda not like that.  They take the baby cow away from its mother sometimes, and just make the mom make milk forever.
Kiddo #1:  Well that doesn't make sense! Who feeds the baby?
Me:  Well... uh, they usually kill the baby.
Kiddo #1:  Good GOD WHY?
Me:  Well, uh, for us to eat.
Kiddo #1:  Ooooooh.  Oh that is HORRIFIC.

I take that back, apparently today WAS the day.

I know there were people in the store who probably wanted to throttle me: like the meat farmers and the dairy farmers and the food pyramid propagandists, and the vegans probably were cheering, and the vegetarians were grumbling and ...  but I guess I wanted her to understand stuff.  I didn't quite get into the meat-butchering process with her (I'm not ready for that, frankly), and we did buy cheese.

And tonight for dinner, she decided not to eat the grass-fed, organic, rainbow magic meat we had.  Instead I had to make her crepes.  Vegan crepes, and they were as delish as I remembered them.

They'll be more delicious when she learns how to make them herself, but that's a whole other trip to the grocery store.

Jayzus Cripes.