This whole blog was born from a garbage day melt down, where in a frantic expulsion of frustration, I began to vomit onto my blackberry keyboard as I held my trembling son, daughter left to wail alone in her bed. In case you have forgotten days of yore and my blog’s infancy 4 eternal months ago, feel free to refresh by clicking on the dreaded, underlined words above.
As I write this, I am holding my trembling son, daughter wailing alone in her crib on a weary, garbagy Thursday afternoon.
Nope. Nothing has changed.
We have tried everything. Changing nap schedules (the sanitation department seems to catch wind of our new plans before we even put them in place, and change right along with us), buying miniature replicas of collection vehicles (lacking the earth shattering clamor, they’re just neat toys having little relation to the actual crisis causing machines), napping in the car (they find us…turn by horrifying turn). Today we even flagged down an actual garbage truck driver, and he was kind enough to disembark and chat with us on the side of the street for 10 minutes. Zachary thought he was just swell, until he reinstated his post as the evil operator and drove off in the obtrusive sonic monster. It seems quite apparent that in a past life, my son was swallowed by a giant green transformer with a mechanical arm.
I give up. Thursday is a miserable wash, and just for the record, Isabelle thinks so too. Her brother clawed at me in a panic and refused to leave my arms today, leaving her pretty much Mommyless. Poor second child.
And now for the truth of all truths…this is our honest and real reason for moving back to the New York Metropolitan area. From what I remember, the streets are as quiet as a chapel and loud vehicles are scarce. I’m certain we are all about to get some much needed sleep.