So yesterday I walked to the library. It is a far walk with kids. Or as far as I'm willing to walk and push them. I even took the long way. And pulled my girls in the wagon which is much harder than the stroller. And even saw Luke at recess when we walked past his school. And touched fingers through the fence. Because I needed to move this expanding tush of mine due to the enormous amounts of sweets I have been eating.
All because I had damaged a book. I mean my household had damaged it somehow. The pages had gotten wet and stuck together and when I pulled them apart, it messed it up. Probably an inch on each page. Very small and minor, but big enough to weigh on my super sensitive weeny conscience that I am starting to hate. So instead of dropping it in the drop box I decided to go and confess to the library and offer to pay for it.
So I stroll in, tell the lady. She says she is going to pretend like nothing happened, and since it didn't damage the words I shouldn't worry about it. But then to make it worse, she embarrasses me with compliments about my honesty and what a good mother I must be and how I must be teaching my kids great things. Yadda Yadda. Felt good even if it was undeserved and dumb. And awkward at the moment. We stay only a few minutes because I have a long and dreaded history due to the incompatibility of my loud and running kids and the very very quite library.
But I decided to check out two books, which I was hoping to catch a different librarian, but didn't. So I was feeling sheepish talking to the one I just confessed to so muttered 'don't worry we will take better care of these ones...heehee'. It fell felt.
THAT WAS YESTERDAY. JUST YESTERDAY
When those ill-fated words would spoken. the book wasn't touched and lay on my counter until Jason just read to them before bed. I am on a different couch when I hear 'EEEWW! YUCK, WHAT IS THIS? MOLD!" Oh no is what I'm thinking. So Jason has Luke smell the stain, which has leaked a dollar sized coin spot onto every page. Banana.
What? Banana. Oh crap. Now I remember. So on the long hot walk back (it was 79 today people) where I was pulling the heavy wagon, I gave Baylie a banana. They were reading their books on the way back. I took Baylie's away after I heard the sound "RRIP". And then kicked myself for giving a precious library book to still a technically one year old. Crap, ripped it already! Need to tape that up. But I let Darby keep her book. And she ate no banana. But somehow a big chunk got in there and killed the book. On the words too on one page.
So within 24 hours of confessing and promising to 'do better' to the nice, over complimentary library, I have let my children rip one book and soil the other with banana. And now we are at the reason for my self-imposed ban. That and the library fines I have previously paid over the years, the books that I've had to scour my house to find, and the sweating it cause me when my children are running in the aisles and screaming to each other when everyone else is perfectly quiet. Although after I have to talk to this lady again, it might be imposed by her as well. And of course the banana book was a hard to come by Richard Scarry book....grrrr.
This amazing destructive discovery was made after a lovely day where I was convinced Baylie's arm was broken for 3 hours.
Remember the daughter who everything happens to and I going to wind me up in a looney bin? Or more accurately in jail with child services... So after crying at the park to my poor friend Sara who has had to rescue me during Baylie's other injuries wondering what to do, calling my medical parents, 'we' decide to wait it out. Watch her. Is she protecting it? Can she use it? She had already been really crying and snotty today so it was too hard to gauge. If it still it bad tomorrow I'll take her in. After tylenol has been administered and we've relaxed on the couch. Or she relaxed while I freaked out two feet next to her hoping she was okay. After three hours of worrying and stress, my little girl is fit as a fiddle. If fiddles are fit. She pulled Darby in a wagon with her 'bad' arm. And ate a frozen gogurt. And romped around with her dad when he got home from work.
Things can be worse. I may be a banana smoosher of books and liar to librarians, but at least I won't be arrested by my pediatrician for yet another incident with my youngest child. At least not today. Which builds more hope that I might make it to the required six month injury free mark to redeem myself from child services. Even though my library status is in jeopardy. And my sanity.