I was outside planting flowers when my daughters informed me they were having a lemonade stand at the end of our driveway. Concerned that their projected profit margins were superficially deflated based on their chosen location, which lacked both visibility and traffic, I conceded to their pleas and allowed them to walk across the street to peddle their lemonade to a neighbor who was outside washing his car. Upon reflection, I deeply identify with people who love money. The wonderment of realizing my indomitable DNA had been inherited by my children momentarily dulled my maternal instincts. At least that is what I plan to tell CPS should they come calling…
Anywho, I walked to the front yard approximately two minutes later and my children were gone. As in I.COULD.NOT.FUCKING.FIND.THEM. I ran down the street knocking on doors, yelling their names, while Mike drove around the block looking for them. My neighbor “claimed” they had never made it across the street to bring him lemonade. I resisted the urge to lunge at him, claw his eyeballs out, and rip out his beating heart with my teeth since he was obviously lying to me and they were locked up in his basement. Hi. I watch Dateline. Maybe even too much Dateline. Twenty minutes later, in a state of unparalleled hysteria, we called the police.
A few minutes later our house was swarming with cops. I was still on the phone with the 911 operator when my daughters came innocently sauntering out of a different neighbor’s house and I went from unrivaled terror to absolute lividity. “YOU TWO ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE! GET INTO THE HOUSE RIGHT NOOOOW!” The police officer assured me that, “This was the best possible outcome.” He then stuck around for a few minutes to ensure I was not going to kill them now that I had found them.
After a good hour of lecturing and tears, I was satisfied my daughters would be reticent to ever move out, much less forget to inform me of their whereabouts. Mike reminded me that we had dinner reservations. “Sorry dude, I have already made arrangements to self-loathe and suck on expired Xanax all night so you need to cancel. I couldn’t find our children today, remember? Ultimate mom party foul.” Mike said, “Erin, we are going.” Immediately suspicious of his sudden unwillingness to comply to my demands, I requested further clarification. Apparently, we were having dinner with some of his dental colleagues because God hated me.
Once we arrived, Mike’s motives became clear since the dinner was being held in his honor. Okay, let me get this straight, not only did I lose our children and topped the leader board as the world’s shittiest mom (incidentally, as I was writing this, I learned some broad with a bad weave fastened her one month old daughter to the back of her Vera knock-off wedding dress and drug her down the aisle which made me feel better) but now we were going to celebrate Mike’s renown virtues. Neat.
I surveyed the captivating populace of dental professionals and silently vowed not to say “vibrator” or “placenta recipes” or “midgets”. We were then led to our seats…next to a gorgeous Bronco cheerleader. I wondered if they had bought her for Mike. As it turns out, she was married to one of the other docs and I totally liked her even though she was prettier than me and had never misplaced her children. She told me that one time she took a poo in a mall restroom and then walked out of the stall and said, “Omg, I cannot believe someone pooped in here!” so no one would think she did it. I decided to give her the other half of a best friend’s necklace.
We raised our glasses to Mike’s awesomeness, his commitment to the dental community, his ability to supervise his children despite working full time blah blah blah and we left. Lying in bed later that night, I realized I had experienced the very worst and best of days. My precious children were sound asleep and Mike was snoring next to me. I was filled with an overwhelming and utterly humbling sense of gratitude. I quietly whispered, “Thank you.” I closed my eyes but a few minutes later remembered one more thing…“Oh and thanks for telling me that super hot cheerleaders poo just like everyone else. Night God.” XO