A Ticket To Hell

This is a ticket to hell. I have been intent on getting our pro-rated Volvo car tax refund, so while Claire was at preschool this morning (no way I was taking all three kids), I dragged the twins to the DMV expecting a short line and quick service. I was wrong. You can read the ticket and see for yourself ... I can't exaggerate here. Now, 25 minutes may not sound like a lot to an adult, but this is an eternity to a toddler. Not to mention the 25 minutes does not include the time it took for me to work with the DMV employee to return the license plate and start the refund process.

Lily wouldn't stay in one place (or near Molly) but at least was quiet (befitting her usual behavior). Molly made a screaming public scene over the vending machines - "MOMMA! UHHHHH!" [which means, Mommy, please open this!]. Then she screamed several times over drawing on Power of Attorney paper I was able to find for drawing purposes - "MOMMA! MORE!". We lost a pen cap. I'm not sure if Molly swallowed it, but when I asked her what she did with it, she opened her mouth wide and pointed into her mouth. Great. The only fortunate part of the 45-minute DMV visit was that 80% of the people waiting were amused by the scene, and only 20% were giving me scowling looks. I have learned that twin girls together, dressed cutely, rarely elicit the kind of negative reaction a tantrum-ing singleton does in public. I suppose it's the saving grace of twins when it comes to public outings.

The rest of the day progressed as normal ... got Claire from preschool, picked up Arby's in the drive-through, got the twins down for a nap, got some work and laundry done while the twins napped, made brownies with Claire (box mix, no real baking time today), got the twins a snack, and then started dinner. But like this morning, I had some idiotic notion the twins would handle themselves well while I started an elaborate homemade chicken pot pie, flaky homemade crust and all. Two hours later, after lots of Molly screaming, Lily crying, and Claire boredom, we sat down to the best version of chicken pot pie (from what I call my cook's bible - "The Best Recipe" cookbook) which the kids wouldn't touch. Sigh. Kyle made it home for the last 25 minutes of cooking time so that gave me a tiny break from the kid chaos. But not enough of a break.

There's a reason I don't do adult errands and elaborate cooking anymore. Today was a brutal reminder of why life with young kids can feel so, uh, limiting.