Here’s how I found out today is International Women’s Day: My classy huz.
And I suppose I was in a celebratory mood since all I ate before noon was a yogurt mixed with Fiber 1, which the marketing world tells me is the most feminine thing I can do. Girls be regular, amirite?
For some reason I agreed to a conference call for the same time I promised my kids the park, so if you’ve ever been there, you know this episode of Working Mom Sitcom fairly well:
- I’m straining to hear about a new website feature in one ear.
- I’m negotiating animal cracker terms between two hungry girls.
- I’m handing a near-empty water bottle to a kid that’s not mine because ‘only keeping track of your own brood’ is for weaklings.
- I’m thinking ‘soon there will be an action item for me and I’d love to agree to it knowing what it is.’
- I’m being summoned post-scooter accident… my eldest is bawling like he’s birthed three humans and knows that level of pain.
- I agree to an action item AND know what it is! Ten points!
- I’ve run out of time with the animal cracker negotiation because toddler is now inconsolable doing The Clock on the park floor. (I totally get you, Serial Season 2 Episode 9.)
Half an hour later, rounded up kids, car, dinner, emails and – yadda yadda yadda – I’m covered in human shit.
Is that a nice way to describe my nearly two-year-old’s leaky poop?
So there’s all that hardcore scrubbing, me and her, some more kids, laundry. And – ‘Honey, I’m home!’
(When’s International Men’s Day?)
Oh, P.S. – I broke a nail.
Actually, make that two.