When the Garbage Trucks in Town

My boys are big fans of the garbage truck.

Big fans.

You know how Kayne loves Kanye? That’s basically how my boys feel about the garbage truck.

The garbage truck is king.

The garbage truck is the centre of the universe.

Now, I always imagined what we would do if we come across their one true love in the flesh.

I imagined it would be as follows:

1. Wave.
2. Look.
3. Move on with our day.

But that’s not how kids work, you guys. That’s not how Kanye loves Kanye.

When you meet your idol you gotta go all in. You don’t just wave and look.

So today, when the garbage truck passed us on the streets, I did what any sane mother would do for her kids, I chased that sucker through our entire neighbourhood while hauling my kids behind me in their wagon.

You should know, I was a track and field superstar ages 11-13. I had participation medals plastered all over my walls.

But chasing a garbage truck in the dead of winter is an entirely different ball game, guys. It’s no basic track and field meet.

First of all, the trail of smells made me gag. Hard. And as I was gagging the cold winter air was literally setting my lungs on fire.

As I gasped for stinky, cold air I continued to press on, hopping over puddles, dragging 50 pounds, maybe 55 – there were full diapers – of impatient and ecstatic little boys in a not-exactly all terrain little red wagon behind me.

Finally, FINALLY, after brute force and determination, we caught up to the darn garbage truck.

And wanna know what my boys did?

Nothing.

They did nothing.

They stood frozen in stardom.

They hardly made eye contact with the big, beautiful stinky beast before them.

And I nearly lost a lung.

Now, we’re back home. I’ve only thrown up once from overexertion and my boys haven’t stopped talking about the garbage truck we chased down this morning.

So, if you live in my neighbourhood and saw a lady in a big red coat running wild with a little red wagon behind her, that was me just trying to catch the garbage truck.

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#CraftMom

Does anyone else try to do the “fun mom” thing?

You know what I’m talking about.

Paint. Crayons. Glitter. Water. Sand. Play-doh.

That sort of stuff?

It always seems like a good idea. You think to yourself:

“Today. Yes! Today, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna be that mom. I’m gonna craft this shit out of this day.”

And you confidently strut to the craft closet, or bucket, or nook, and pull out all those cool goodies you picked up at the store after being inspired by a bomb caterpillar made out of nothing more than an egg carton and pipe cleaners.

Easy peasy.

Or, omgosh. You can paint a giant mural. Your little Picaso can put his tiny, sticky, crayon craving hands to good use.

Yes.

This day is gonna be so fun.

#craftmom

So you roll out a big and I mean BIG sheet of paper for your kid to colour all over. He can’t miss it. The floor will be saved.

And some water to paint with because it’s not messy.

Woo! Super fun.

Then your kid pours the entire bucket of water on his head.

Still colours on your floors.

Eats the crayon.

And leaves you with a giant friggen mess to clean up.

You wonder where the heck it all went wrong.

Was it the water? The crayons? The attempt to be #craftmom?

Somewhere it all went astray.

You vow to never to be #craftmom again.

Then lo and behold, one rainy Tuesday….