ReinforcementsAmy Corbett Storch
My husband is away on business for five (5) whole days and nights. I realize this puts me squarely in the rookie category in terms of solo parenting, but he very rarely has to travel ever so whatever. I’m an AMATEUR. I admit it.
The first order of business was to get my mom to come down. “HALP,” I texted. “AM FLANKED AND OUTNUMBERED. REQUIRE ZONE DEFENSE ASSISTANCE. ALSO I HAVE A DISCOUNT CODE FOR AMTRAK.”
The second order of business was to fill the DVR in our bedroom with hours of horrible television like Hoarders and cake-decorating competitions and various programs about People Who Eat Really Impressive Amounts Of Terrible Food, which is kind of like a mash-up of the other two shows. COMPETITIVE FOOD HOARDERS: The Search For America’s Next Top Stomach That Eats All The Things With Bonus ZOMG Cringing Because Ew Gross.
The third order of business was to go to the grocery store all by myself. Usually my husband and I take pity on each other and take at least one child along with us, so the non-shopping parent only has to deal with two of them. My mother is not aware of this arrangement, unless she is reading this post, but I don’t think she is because this morning she volunteered to clean the boy’s bathroom, because the wall got peed on. Again. Possibly repeatedly. She felt responsible because it happened “on her watch” which is further evidence that she doesn’t read this column, so therefore, HA HA, I WENT TO THE GROCERY STORE BY MYSELF AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.
Yes, it’s true. Motherhood makes you resort to subterfuge against your own parent in order to get the grocery shopping done slightly faster, with the bonus opportunity to buy yourself a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and eat them in the car without sharing.
AMATEUR MY ASS. AM GENIUS, ALSO KIND OF A DICK, AND SORT OF SAD.