This morning I had an important meeting. As far as meetings go, this one was a big one. It was a suit and tie meeting with very important people. I needed to make a good impression and I needed to be on time.
Unfortunately, TheMonk decided today was the day that he was going to be grouchy. The entire morning from the moment he got up he was in a funk. If you told him his red cup was red, he’d tell you it was blue. If he told you he was done with breakfast, after you cleared his tray, he’d scream that he wasn’t finished. If you gave him one cracker, he demanded four.
I was wearing a crisp white shirt, tie and a charcoal suit and it is very difficult to wrestle with screaming, kicking two-year-old while trying to maintain a GQ look. But I managed.
After getting shoes on and struggling to get him into his car seat, all the while he was screaming for “MORE CRACKERS!”, I was able to put Swee’Pea into her car seat (who, by the way, made a point of reminding me that “I’m not crying, Daddy”) and head off to daycare.
Along the way, we happened to pass a large dump truck. Dump Trucks and tractors are like crack to TheMonk. If he sees one, he wants to see it again… and soon. Sure enough, TheMonk begins screaming “I WANNA SEE TRUCKS!! I WANNA SEE TRUCKS!!!”
We pull up to the daycare provider’s house and I get Swee’Pea out of the car first. I go around to the other side and attempt to remove TheMonk. He’s still doing his best Tasmanian Devil imitation but I manage to pull him free from his chair and set him down on the grass beside the car.
At this point another parent has arrived to drop off his extremely well-behaved kids and they all watch as I leave TheMonk flailing away and screaming on the front lawn of the daycare provider as I carry Swee’Pea to the front door as she has developed a recent phobia of cars in the street and thinks that all cars are somehow going to jump the curve and mow her down in the prime of her life.
As the daycare provider opens the door, we all turn our attention to TheMonk who is now on all fours and braying like a rented mule. I usher Swee’Pea into the door and I return to TheMonk and pick him up with my hands under his armpits. I have to extend my arms out while holding him away from my body to avoid his kicking feet. I rush him to the front door and I thrust a screaming, kicking, two-year-old to our unflappable daycare provider, mentioned I had an important meeting to get to and rushed off.
30 minutes later, I walked into my meeting, looking sharp and things went very well.
I’m pretty sure no one noticed the grassy scuff marks on my shoes.
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