Some days you lose your marbles. You let some Jersey Shore into your life and go creepin’ for Chaos. Time and reality are suspended as the house falls apart around you like Lisbon in Inception.
Wednesday was one of those days.
The deep fog of devastation has finally cleared (like a nice day at the Oregon Coast).
But on Wednesday K-Pants would not wear pants. There were a thousand time-outs–downstairs, upstairs, on the roof. At nap time he took apart the child-proof handle on his door. Playing outside turned into throwing-rocks-at-Mommy time.
Baby Woww, as usual, watched with pleasant detachment.
When my husband arrived home after what seemed like a 43-hour work day, not even the scent of sweet potato fries could serve as smelling salts to bring me out of the bad dream. I grabbed my keys, pulled my giant hiking socks higher over my stretch pants, and peeled out of the driveway with flames shooting out the back of my car.*
The problem with this move, I’ve discovered, is that you need to have a destination in mind. It’s difficult to keep up the Mommy Madness while you meander around Suburban Land looking at pumpkins.
But then it hit me: Chennai Masala. It’s our local South Indian restaurant. I needed a masala dosa somethin’ fierce. And they did not disappoint. The coconut chutney was velvety and sour, the sambar went down with a nice burn, and the dosa was its usual sourdough crispy-parchment-paper texture.
Have you ever seen The Santa Clause? You know the scene where they go to Denny’s on Thanksgiving? The place is filled with Japanese business men and divorced dads who burned the turkey? Well Wednesday was Diwali, the Hindu holiday centered around the goddess Lakshmi, and going to an Indian restaurant on Diwali is a bit desolate.
I was there with a few bachelors, some Indian Christians, a north-Indian dad and his daughter, and a middle-aged white lady who was probably sad to leave Mr. Fluffles and Puss-N-Boots at home. There I was. Alone in my hiking socks and stretch pants. It was looking like I should pull out a copy of Cat Fancy magazine.
The dosa was delicious, but the dining scene was a wake up call–I’d rather be at home with my family and our chaos. I packed up a to-go mango lassi as a peace offering, and headed home.
It seems like the universe had it in for a few of us this week, so please share your tales of woe.
*I did not actually peel out of the driveway–our street has lots of families with kids. C’mon people! But I won’t be insulted if you look for rubber burn when you come over next.