Ring-a-ling-a-ling! Swimming Telephone - Tangled Up In Blue

When the Swimming Telephone rings, you answer. Capiche?

The fabulous Marian of Just Keep Swimming created a fantastic game of telephone for the kids here in the blogosphere. With our side-ponys and friendship bracelets flying, we are running the blog relay; passing the keyboard in lieu of the baton. It's my turn to give you the latest installment of the incredible Swimming Telephone. I'm up at bat, continuing the story of one poor mama-jama having one hell of a day. So far, her tangled web has been woven with care and morning dew by the following fantastic bloggers:

• Mama’s 3 year old son escaped and had a junior joy-ride in the driveway (Nicole at Ninja Mom)
• Her middle child got tattooed with a Sharpie by his big sister, complete with an f-bomb shout-out (Kristina at There’s No Time For Pants!)
• Big sister got a lovely reverse mohawk from middle-child brother, the new school year begins tomorrow and, to top it off? Our heroine's mother-in-law just showed up!  Robyn at Hollow Tree Ventures chimes in with, "You Must Be Kidding!"
•  JD from Honest Mom brings the continued funny with, "Thank God for Grandma." AND...
• Our mama removes children from rafters and considers daytime drinking as the incomparable Andrea at the Underachievers Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess outlines in, "It IS Five-o-clock somewhere!"   

Here is DG's last installment, It IS Five-o-clock somewhere! Lucky me, I pick up our heroine's story just below with Tangled Up In Blue!

***It IS Five-o-clock somewhere!*** Underachievers Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess

Pfffft!  I can't start drinking yet can I?  Yes.  Yes I can. But first, I grab the kitchen bar stool, climb up unsteadily, and grab Mr. Man from the rafters as he giggles and yells, "Mama look at me! I'm a monkey!"

My mother-n-law watches with an expression that is one part disapproval, two parts empathy - she's been down this road before - and her son, my husband is severely flawed in more ways than I or he would like to admit so she knows to keep a lid on it for now.  As I put Mr. Man at the table, I do what I do best, pre-occupy him with a snack, and the others immediately follow.  Chocolate in the morning?  Yes.  And though I haven't even cleaned up their egg-filled breakfast dishes, I immediately toss them each a chocolate-y snacky-type bar and fill their cups for the third time already today - I'm certain I will do this at least 10 more times before noon.  My mother- n -law decides to take a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to Tattoo Boy's arm. 

She has more patience and will to get this task done than I do, so I quickly pour another cup of coffee and think I'll pour some Bailey's Irish Cream directly into my coffee cup only to find that my husband has put the bottle back with approximately 3 droplets left. Why does he put empty things back on the shelf?  I'd like to ask my mother- n- law but I bite my tongue.  Mommy's little helper will have to wait until wine o'clock, much later after I get these children fixed.   I am a bit horrified that my mother n law is scrubbing the f word off of her grandson with a magic sponge, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I catch my reflection in the mirror in horror. Last night's makeup and hair, and I'm still dealing with a wedgie from hell.  I have to do something about Mohawk Girl's hair, Tattoo Boy's arm is now missing several layers of skin, and Mater's Manager is plotting his next move.  I inform my Mother- n -Law that I'm going to run to the bathroom to get my face on and get ready to go and drag myself down the hallway.  When I open the door to the bathroom, I am stunned to find something that is about to make my morning look like a walk in the park....

***Tangled Up In Blue!***

"No, no, no-no-no-no-NO!"

"You ok in there?" my mother-in-law inquired.

I moved quickly and locked the door. "Yes. Everything is fine. How are you faring with the tattooed wonder?"

Her response was jumbled and unclear. The tell-tale, under the breath muttering of a woman on the edge. "Welcome to my world.", I whispered.

I had a small disaster on my hands and, swirling at my ankles. I was going to need supplies. I was going to need towels. I was going to need coffee. Why hadn't I ever considered a Keurig for the bathroom. A Keurig was definitely going on my, "Dream The Impossible Dream Bathroom!" board on Pinterest. Wasn't there a Dukakis who drank mouthwash? I briefly concocted the recipe for a mint julep with a mouthwash kicker in my mind. Cocktails For Women In Crisis! Another ill timed book idea.

I turned around and reached for the towel racks. Empty. Of course. The towels were in the dryer. "This will teach me to do laundry.", I muttered. And then, BINGO! I had never been more thankful for my postpartum incontinence. The Depends! It was going to take the whole package. Maybe two. Did I still have my maternity underwear handy? Those bad boys could soak up at least 2 cups each.

As I started mopping up the water, my mind was racing. What was I thinking? These late 1800s-era New England pipes weren't built for this. I had panicked. It was the only solution my half-awake brain could find this morning right before the day hopped the express rail to Hell. I had to laugh considering the irony of the flush of the toilet signaling the start of this craptacular day.

When Jeff wiggled the doorknob this morning, I took the test, dropped it in the toilet and flushed. He wasn't ready for the news. I wanted to be wearing heels when I told him; maybe some mascara. I wanted to brush my teeth. I wanted to look...ready. And now, here I was, mopping up Smurf-blue toilet water with Depends, a positive pregnancy test stuck in our pipes. I was running out of time. By now, my mother-in-law had surely removed the ink tattoo along with a few layers of the darling offspring's skin and had probably moved on to the white glove test in the living room. Please God, don't let her look at the ceiling fan blades.

"Christine? You ok?"

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm fine. I'll be right out." But, things were not fine. I sat on the edge of the tub, placed my head in my now dark blue stained, toilet water hands and cursed AAA for only servicing cars and not septic systems.

"Do you want some wine, honey? I already started!"

"No thanks! I'm, sadly, going to have to pass." I had already grabbed the Bailey's for show. The charade lives on! She would know soon enough. This day had already been endless. I considered the next 9 months without wine and smiled. "Hey Mom? I'm going to need the number for a plumber!"

What's next for this mama? Rock bottom? Rock and a hard place? Either way, I'll mix a margarita on the rocks and pass it to the amazing and talented Tara at You Know It Happens At Your House Too.