I am the six eggs lady.
I knew this to be true already but it became blindingly obvious this morning as I struggled to get out the front door with 3 lunatic children and 45 bags. I was attempting to get to a gym class (yes, that’s another story) and as I stood on our front step with Hendrix tucked under my arm like a giant, gorgeous, wriggling football; bags hanging off every other part of me, keys in my mouth, yelling at the other two to stand by the goddamn car and, “No! You can’t eat the snacks yet; they’re for the creche…..” I realised. I am the six eggs lady. From the facial expression to the children hanging off her, it’s me. Ahhhh, wouldn’t it be nice to not find every moment of life manic? Let me clarify that. Wouldn’t it be nice to not find every moment of public life with kids manic? We are currently in the if it ain’t fenced, designed for kids or in any way involves life threatening implements we’re out stage. The supermarket is the worst. The post office a close second. I strategically planned a recent visit to the PO. I mean, I actually sat and planned it out in my head. I was so stressed about it I had to have a cup of tea and google Zac Efron pictures for a bit. In the end I bit the bullet, drove up there; strapped Hendo onto me, Phoebo got locked up tight in the pram and Addison was dragged along next to me. We speed entered the post office; dodging displays and annoyed old people to get to the counter where I basically yelled what I wanted, paid (after struggling to extract my wallet from one of the 20 bags I had) and got the fuck outta there. See? Six eggs lady.
I honestly believe most of the appeal of having a child free outing is the lack of stuff you have to take though apparently we don’t all carry enough supplies to last through the apocalypse. I recently came across a spirited conversation on a parenting page whereby several expert parents lambasted anyone who left the house with what they deemed ‘baggage.’ These Mums exit their houses on a wing and a prayer, firmly stating anything needed can be purchased and children need nothing bar a drink bottle and quiet confidence. Mind you, over here in the provincial world of us six egg ladies, I prefer not to remortgage the house every time we leave it and like reaching into my ‘baggage’ for a nappy when someone has exploded out of it rather than searching the zoo for an overpriced single Huggies. In all honesty, I’m envious of those who can carry light. I just find that every time I’ve tried it someone has either vomited, deemed themselves dying of thirst/hunger or run off into a sprinkler and returned saturated. So I salute those of you who have espoused the pack-horse life; carry on with your minimalist living you fabulous people.
Some days leaving the house is shithouse hard. In fact, it’s every time. I recently saw a meme about ‘kids aren’t just being kids; they just have bad parents’ or something to that effect. All these people agreeing and you know; there are less than stellar parents out there but there’s also people like Spouse and I, and our friends who are doing our damned best to raise non assholes who are decent, kind and respectful human beings. But here’s the thing; kids ARE kids. They behave on occasion, like assholes. They are developmentally unable to do certain things at certain ages and like to test boundaries. They are not designed to sit and be still, hence why I try my best to avoid situations and places that are not conducive to the sort of fuckery that a bunch of under 5 year olds bring with them. And that is why I am so goddamn flustered. Because in order to leave the house I have to be the six eggs lady. I have to be ready to shut shit down at once whilst still remembering to buy milk and bread. However for everyone’s sanity it’s important to cross over into the outside world at least once daily. The 4 walls close in very quickly and though the struggle is very real and I mostly appear to be a screeching mess, getting out that door is a relief.
Even if I am the six eggs lady.
In active wear.