Now and then, I just abandon my husband with all four kids so he can have some quality time with all of them.
(Quality time = Constantly responding to a million requests while trying to keep the house from getting completely trashed while listening to a lot of whining while trying to squeeze in a shower for yourself.)
I recently left him on a Saturday morning so I could head into New York City and meet my friend Jen for breakfast. She’s from Colorado so I rarely see her. Plus, she is one of five kids so who better to give me a little pep talk before the birth of baby #5. (Is “Five” a weird name? Asking for a friend.)
But because I’m a good wife, I try to give Rick some idea of what to do with all our kiddos so I don’t return and find him trapped under a pile of baby dolls and toy kitchen utensils.
On this particular morning, I told him to take the crew to a kids play space and I even packed up our brown bag for him.
The brown bag is vital for survival on any outing.
It has snacks. It has water. It has wipes. It has a change of clothes for Chase and Harlowe, in case there is some unfortunate potty accident which there isn’t unless you don’t bring the bag. Every time we leave the house without the brown bag, it never works out for us. I’d rather forget my cell phone than this bag. Now you understand.
Having done everything I could to make his morning better, I kissed everyone goodbye and left for New York City.
And it wasn’t until I was headed over the Triborough bridge, now called the RFK bridge, but everyone still calls it the Triborough so I don’t know why they changed it, when I noticed this…
Yup, I accidentally took the brown bag with me.
So much for being a helpful wife.
At least I had plenty of snacks.