Wednesday, March 4, 2009

...and leave the key under the mat too.

Do you ever have one of those days when you honestly could not look any worse, your house could not be any more trashed, your dog could not smell any more like dead ass and your kids could not act any more like the spawn of satan?

Let me elaborate.

The kind of day where everyone is still in their pajamas at 2 p.m. Never mind the fact that they have been that way for the second day in a row; mostly because the weather sucks and you may have given up the will to live after having them inside for FOUR DAYS STRAIGHT. The living room is full of toys, empty food bowls, shredded pieces of a stuffed dog toy, and milk-laden sippy cups rolled under the chairs. The couch is blocking the entire entrance to the living room which isn't a big deal since the dining room chairs are lined up in a train fashion blocking the rest of the room and the couch cushions are supporting the fort under the table. The dining room table is full of torn shreds of paper because your sons decided playing with scissors would be a great past time and you just don't have the energy to empty the vacuum bag so you can get it up. There isn't an open spot on the counter top in the kitchen due to the lovely mix of dirty and clean dishes. Which subsequently, you are terrified of attempting to make the differentiation for fear of putting a dirty one away and the one guest you are wanting to empress getting that dirty glass. But at the same time, the thought of cleaning every single dish again makes the risk seem worthwhile? So you take these three rooms and you put them all into one big room...that, is my house. As soon as you walk in the front door you are overwhelmed by this one, big, obnoxious, incredibly open space that is obviously inhabited by the kind of people you avoid in every realm of society. And that front door; it's glass. There are no curtains. There is no hiding the mess or the pajama-clad inhabitants.

That, my dear friends, is the setting for my afternoon visit from the Welcome Wagon.

I wish I was kidding.

Apparently, new residents get a lovely visit from a flowery-basket carrying well-dressed, makeup-clad member of society. (A society in which I will never be welcomed now.) She shows up riding a cupcake sprinkled with fairy dust and a cheery smile that makes you loose the power to say no when she invites herself in. Even though you are mortified and stumbling over all sorts of excuses about 'pretending to build a fort' or 'learning to hold scissors properly' or 'celebrating pajama day in some foreign country', the fairyland greeter can see right through you. Straight through to the dust bunnies under the chairs suckling the last drops from the long-lost sippy cups. She knows that you are hiding much more than a 'lazy day' and recognizes that you need more help than her 'little basket of joy' (read: business cards) can bestow.

She doles out her little prizes and spends much too long explaining the benefits of said cleaning service or free facials. She knows you are that one new neighbor who needed much more help than her one little basket could provide. But never says a word as she fakes an understanding smile, while you are comforting a screaming toddler who's has just been abused by his brother, and she makes her hasty exit.

Just as you are thanking God that it is over and still cursing yourself for not saying everyone had the flu, she mentions this...

"So, I just realized when you said your son's name (read: yelled at Bonus to get the dirty underwear off Deuce's head) that my daughter is the one that baby sat for you last month!"

And with that, I am crawling in my hole of despair and never returning.

Shut the lights off when you leave, please.

7 comments:

dancing_lemur said...

That. Is. Awesome. Dude, seriously, I didn't know places still HAD the Welcome Wagon, and I'm from a small southern town. Also, haven't you already lived there for like 3 months? Isn't she a little late?

motherbumper said...

They don't have Welcome Wagons in my neighbourhood, just barn burnings.

And sounds like pretty much every day in my household - solidarity sistah!

Jennifer, Playgroups Are No Place For Children said...

Ha! We had a visit from the Welcome Wagon here, too. That lady was persistant. I ignored the doorbell for 3 or 4 of her visits because my house looked like yours. Eventually she caught us outside and talked a little too long about the new gym in town and the Christian schools I needed to send my kids to.

Gotta love the south.

Kelly said...

OMG, I love you and this one so much!!! HILARIOUS! and I so needed that today too. Hang in there, babe...this'll all blow over in another 12-16 years or so :)

Kelly said...

Oh yeah...i should have qualified my previous comment with, ahem...."I did not mean to make fun of this unfortunate event so don't hate on me for LOLing". You know I'm laughing WITH you! ....right??? :)

jesnicole said...

I JUST FOUND YOUR BLOG FROM ANOTHER BLOG, AND I AM SO GLAD TO SEE THAT THERE IS ANOTHER MOMMA OUT THERE WHO LIVES IN A HOME THAT IS WRECKED!!! I DESPERATELY NEED TO CLEAN TONIGHT!!! HOPE YOUR TOMORROW IS PLEASANT!

The Stiletto Mom said...

What you don't know is the Welcome Wagon ladies have some type of sensory device and they know EXACTLY what the wrong moment to appear is. Mine showed up after I was two and half glasses into a bottle of wine. At 3:00 in the afternoon. Pretty sure she thought I had "issues". Nope, just toddlers.