Ketchup Is a Vegetable: And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves by Robin O'Bryant Page B
Authors: Robin O'Bryant
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“Sorry… (gasp), about that(gasp)… I(rasping cough), excuse me… I had to get my phone from some woman in a Caddy. Oh, and my kid stole this gum.” I panted.
The cashier looked at me with pity in her eyes, and said, “Don’t worry about it.” (Bless her… wherever she is Lord… bless her.) This would have been the ideal time for Aubrey to turn to me, fling her hand in my face and say, “You’re firahed!” I would have gladly walked away, no questions asked. But nooooooo , she wants to claim me when she had just committed her first petty theft.
“MOOOMMMY!” She wailed as I made her put the gum back on the shelf and apologize to the cashier. “MOMMY, hold me!! I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m SO sorry!”
Another day that nearly sent me to the Motherhood unemployment line came when my two oldest were close to five — and three-years-old. It had been a hectic month with my husband working an average of eighty to ninety hours a week. I was writing this book, waiting to hear back from super important New York City literary agents, and so amped up I wasn’t sleeping well at night… or at all.
I spent the morning running errands while a babysitter watched my children so I could be home in time to feed everyone lunch and get them settled down for naps. During nap time, Aubrey and Emma slept soundly. I finished up some household chores and decided to lie down and read since everyone was quiet. I made the mistake of Tweeting my decision out into the universe. Of course, Sadie intuitively knew that I had some free time on my hands and immediately began crying from her crib.
I picked her up and shortly afterwards, the big girls woke up. We went next door to visit with our neighbors, as I thought adult conversation and perhaps a beer might save me from my near exhausted state. But upon returning home to cook dinner I realized the swarm of flies in my kitchen window, which my husband had successfully slaughtered the day before, had sent reinforcements to seek retribution. I don’t mean a few stray flies were in my house. I’m talking Sally-Struthers-Feed-the-Children swarms of flies.
I immediately called Zeb because whilst I can handle a single bug at a time, I am ill equipped to handle swarms, hordes or flocks of anything. While I was on the phone talking to my husband’s voicemail and attempting to cook a healthy and nutritious dinner for my cherubs, they were busy grabbing flies and smushing them by the handfuls. I hope you realize I am not a germaphobe, I let them eat sand… but come on! This crossed a line. Something had to be done.
I snatched open our childproofed kitchen cabinet and looked for anything in a spray bottle… no Raid, no bug-killer of any kind. Dammit. I grabbed a bottle of air freshener and took my stand at the window, in very much the same way Scarlett O’Hara faced those Yanks, I’m sure. I sprayed furiously while I held my breath and watched as a measly four flies met their Maker. This was pathetic. Scarlett would be so ashamed.
I wasn’t about to load up all three of my kids at dinnertime to go to the store for Raid, but these bugs had to die. What to do? What to do?
I called my husband’s cell phone again and got his voicemail, again. (Grrrrr! Did he not realize I was in the middle of a crisis?)
It turns out that Zeb was in a meeting and unable to discuss my exterminating needs. So I did what any girl would do, I called my next-door neighbor Buck (because my Daddy lives too far away.) He sprayed some toxic substance that had every insect in my house flying kamikaze death spirals in two minutes flat. RIP suckahs.
Once my husband came home, he knew I had been traumatized by the swarm of bugs and his lack of availability in the midst of my misfortune. Immediately he asked what he could do to help.
“PLEASE, feed Sadie some rice cereal and fruit while I finish cooking.”
Bless his heart. (Read: “Bless his darlin’
“Sorry… (gasp), about that(gasp)… I(rasping cough), excuse me… I had to get my phone from some woman in a Caddy. Oh, and my kid stole this gum.” I panted.
The cashier looked at me with pity in her eyes, and said, “Don’t worry about it.” (Bless her… wherever she is Lord… bless her.) This would have been the ideal time for Aubrey to turn to me, fling her hand in my face and say, “You’re firahed!” I would have gladly walked away, no questions asked. But nooooooo , she wants to claim me when she had just committed her first petty theft.
“MOOOMMMY!” She wailed as I made her put the gum back on the shelf and apologize to the cashier. “MOMMY, hold me!! I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m SO sorry!”
Another day that nearly sent me to the Motherhood unemployment line came when my two oldest were close to five — and three-years-old. It had been a hectic month with my husband working an average of eighty to ninety hours a week. I was writing this book, waiting to hear back from super important New York City literary agents, and so amped up I wasn’t sleeping well at night… or at all.
I spent the morning running errands while a babysitter watched my children so I could be home in time to feed everyone lunch and get them settled down for naps. During nap time, Aubrey and Emma slept soundly. I finished up some household chores and decided to lie down and read since everyone was quiet. I made the mistake of Tweeting my decision out into the universe. Of course, Sadie intuitively knew that I had some free time on my hands and immediately began crying from her crib.
I picked her up and shortly afterwards, the big girls woke up. We went next door to visit with our neighbors, as I thought adult conversation and perhaps a beer might save me from my near exhausted state. But upon returning home to cook dinner I realized the swarm of flies in my kitchen window, which my husband had successfully slaughtered the day before, had sent reinforcements to seek retribution. I don’t mean a few stray flies were in my house. I’m talking Sally-Struthers-Feed-the-Children swarms of flies.
I immediately called Zeb because whilst I can handle a single bug at a time, I am ill equipped to handle swarms, hordes or flocks of anything. While I was on the phone talking to my husband’s voicemail and attempting to cook a healthy and nutritious dinner for my cherubs, they were busy grabbing flies and smushing them by the handfuls. I hope you realize I am not a germaphobe, I let them eat sand… but come on! This crossed a line. Something had to be done.
I snatched open our childproofed kitchen cabinet and looked for anything in a spray bottle… no Raid, no bug-killer of any kind. Dammit. I grabbed a bottle of air freshener and took my stand at the window, in very much the same way Scarlett O’Hara faced those Yanks, I’m sure. I sprayed furiously while I held my breath and watched as a measly four flies met their Maker. This was pathetic. Scarlett would be so ashamed.
I wasn’t about to load up all three of my kids at dinnertime to go to the store for Raid, but these bugs had to die. What to do? What to do?
I called my husband’s cell phone again and got his voicemail, again. (Grrrrr! Did he not realize I was in the middle of a crisis?)
It turns out that Zeb was in a meeting and unable to discuss my exterminating needs. So I did what any girl would do, I called my next-door neighbor Buck (because my Daddy lives too far away.) He sprayed some toxic substance that had every insect in my house flying kamikaze death spirals in two minutes flat. RIP suckahs.
Once my husband came home, he knew I had been traumatized by the swarm of bugs and his lack of availability in the midst of my misfortune. Immediately he asked what he could do to help.
“PLEASE, feed Sadie some rice cereal and fruit while I finish cooking.”
Bless his heart. (Read: “Bless his darlin’
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