Posts Tagged With: USPS

I’m Never Leaving the House Again… with Kids

I go to the post office at least once a week. I do not like it. I do not look forward to it. My printer is broken so I have no option to ship from home, plus some things I would have to lug into there anyway. My husband, and even friends, never seem to understand the disdain in my voice when I say “Post office” so let me elaborate.

Here is the events of today’s “quick run” to our local post office.

Get up round 9, remember I HAVE to get some things shipped TODAY. Start dressing myself and kids.

Three_hours_later

I finally have tire aired up, bottle washed, kids in clothes and shoes, packages together, dogs taken out, carseats put back in the car, ¬†and I at least have a bra on so I can say I’m dressed.

Kaston screams for the majority of our 7 minute drive.

We arrive. Paxton decides he is “stuck” to his carseat. I have to pry him out with magic while holding fatty Kaston. He has to wait for the “magic” automated doors to close so he can open them himself “magically”

Line is backed up, no problem, I need to grab a shipping envelope and label some stuff anyway. Grab what I need, no pen. No pen in the entire post office other than the ones at each teller station which are ALL full. Lord forbid you dare try to fill out anything that close next to someone checking out. People don’t want you to see them shipping socks to their grandmother or returning their overpriced shoes to the seller.

I shove my unpackaged stuff into the shipping envelope and wait. Kaston decides he needs to grab every pile of forms off the counter. 15 minutes of fighting him later Paxton decides he HAS to pee. I try in vain to get a tellers attention, I finally shout out to nearest worker “I need a potty! Kid has to go now!” She then tells me “No, sorry, we can’t let you go here” before scurrying off to the back again

What did she just say to me? MY 4 year old can’t go HERE? I have seen people allowed to use the restroom multiple times. Do they not realize I’m here all the time. I yell back to her across the room of people, “That’s fine, he’d rather pee in your parking lot anyway”

So I leave my packages on the counter and escort him outside. Once situated between my 2 open car doors he decides he doesn’t have to pee after all. False alarm.

I’m irritated to say the least. I go back in expecting the people within to have the common courtesy to let me back in my place in line, if not that then at least take pity on me. It is beyond obvious I have my hands full. Keep in mind I have Kaston’s hefty butt on my hip this entire time.

What sorcery is this? It is literally an entirely different line of people!? What happened in the 5 minutes that I was gone to move the line ahead by 10 freaking people? I waited 15 minutes and only 4 people went through!? Of course nobody cares whether they may have seen me ahead of them earlier, so it’s to the back I go…again.

At this point, Kaston, who hasn’t had spit up issues in weeks, begins spurting spit up like a garden hose. It’s all over him, me, and the counter. I find ONE single wipe in my purse and clean him and the counter best I can. I have’t even shoved the sopping cloth back into my purse before he lets out another wave, This time I manage to catch two heaping handfuls in both hands. I am looking around frantic for any sign of a paper towel. Nothing. I know I can’t even walk to the counter and ask without spilling this everywhere. I am precariously balancing him on my hip and it just won’t work. I have no choice but to say “screw it” and rub what looks like over a cup of warm spit up all down my shirt and pants legs.

During this battle, Paxton has disappeared from my side. I see him attempting to hide behind the card rack. This can only mean one thing; he is about to crap himself. I hurry him back to my side in hopes he can make it just a little longer. We wait another 20 minutes.

The teller finally calls us up, at the precise moment Kaston decided he doesn’t want to be held anymore. Crazy considering he NEVER wants to be put down when we are at home. He has started to go into that wild buck kids do. I’m flipping and switching him every which away while trying to fill out my labels, since I finally have the privilege of a pen. I attempt to sit him on the counter while I dig out my wallet, he wildly grabs at everything. knocking things over in the process. I put him back on my hip. Teller hands me ANOTHER form to fill out and asks me to fill it out to the side. This means I will have to wait AGAIN.

All the while I am trying to keep my eye on Paxton, who is pouting that I made him stand beside me. I notice he has stopped whining which means he is probably trying to poop again. Yep, pretty sure I smell it.

We finally make our exit nearly 40 minutes after arriving. I rush to the nearest drive thru to feed Paxton and pray they have coffee. Taco Bell is the closest thing. No kids menu so of course he is now crying because he didn’t get a toy with his food. My coffee tastes like the beans went through a donkey’s lower intestine¬†before they made it into my cup. $1.79 wasted.

Kaston screams, yet again because he is strapped into his torture device of safety. He manages to fall asleep in the last 30 seconds of our ride home.

I wake him to unload, so he is screaming again. I throw Paxton on the potty to finish his crap. He is now crying and whining because he hates it. I grab Kaston back up and try to calm him back to sleep. He isn’t having it. It takes every song I know and 15 minutes of rocking to get him to stop crying. At the precise moment he stops crying, Paxton yells that he is finished.

Great…. I can’t leave him just sitting on the toilet 15-20 minutes with a crappy butt while I get this one to sleep, but if I put this one down he will start to cry again and I will have to calm him all over again. I choose the latter. No sooner has his butt hit the crib mattress, he is in tears again. I rush to wipe butt as fast as humanly possible and try not to cry.

It isn’t even 1:00 yet. Can I go back to bed.

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Yes I am aware of the atrocious grammatical and punctual errors…. my kids are yelling again… “Ain’t nobody got time for dat proofreading!”

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