My Morning From Hades

So, it's that time of year (actually past that time of year) when the car was due for an inspection. Owen and I showed up on time for our 9 o'clock appointment this morning only to figure out that we didn't have a copy of the current insurance information (the one dated 12/20/08-6/20/09 will just not do - even though the printed card says right on there it is not proof of insurance and all our insurance info is the same, they need a new card dated 6/20/09-12/20-09 that says that it is not proof of insurance.) Okay, I can deal with that. Our totally super-duper awesome insurance company faxed one right over. Thanks, USAA! Then I couldn't find the registration card, so I headed over to the office where I could purchase a duplicate. Before heading in, I looked one more time with Owen strapped in his seat and not crawling between me and the glove box, and yay, I found it. So I headed back to the shop to get my inspection and oil change.
Owen ate 2 deviled eggs and 5 pieces of prosciutto for a late breakfast, and then we walked to the Salvation Army next door. As Owen browsed through the toys, I smelled a SMELL. Poop. Hoping it was just gas, we headed to the bathroom where there was NO toilet paper and cleaned him up a very tiny poop as well as we could with the paper towels. I had spare clothes for him, but they were five feet in the air in my car in the shop next door. After browsing a bit more, we headed back to the shop where we were informed that the car had failed inspection because we needed 2 new tires. We also had a nail in a third tire, so it would need repair. Trying to cut my losses, I sprung for 4 new tires, and the pop who owns the shop actually bargained on the phone for 70,000 mile tires instead of 40,000 mile tires for the same price. Cool! It was still an expensive trip.
So, at 11:50 we headed by the post office to mail a few things (hopefully in time for Christmas). I put Owen on my back and walked in to see the line was rather long. I couldn't find the right declaration forms in any of the slots, so I had to stand in line and ask for one. Then I had to step out of line to fill it out, but there weren't any pens in the whole danged post office. Not one. They didn't even have little chains with missing pens. Apparently, you have to take you own pen into the Lancaster PO. So we went back outside where we, thankfully, found a pen in the car. I filled out the form declaring my package worthless - cause you know, much as I love the felt gifts I'm sending, they have no monetary value - and stood in line again to mail my things. By this time Owen had had it (I had too) and he began flailing on my back, alternately laughing maniacally and whining. I tried holding Owen's hand, but he howled that I was, "HURTING HIM!" Really, I don't think I was physically hurting him, but I can guarentee everyone else in that post office thought I was. He threw my hat. And his hat, and I was only slightly cheered by the nice man behind me who gave a knowing smile as I scooted past him to get our hats. Then I saw the angel child who always seems to appear when my child is acting like a wild hooligan. You know, one always turns up to make you feel even more inadequate as a parent when your kid is having a meltdown. I was ready to crawl into a hole. Then Owen showed two fingers to the mother of the angel child. She said, "Oh, are you two? That explains it." I smiled. She proceeded, "Are you being bad for mommy? Did you know Santa is watching you? He won't bring you any presents if your bad like that for mommy." I used my last bit of resolve not to go off on this woman for telling my kid he was bad and wouldn't get any presents. I TRIED to smile (it probably look more like a painful grimmice) and turned back around. How dare she say those things?! I can only hope she was trying to be helpful. I can only wonder if her child ever acts untoward or if he is so utterly scared of being a bad child who won't get any presents that he always acts like a saint.
While we continued to wait in line (we were at the front by this time just waiting to be called up), Owen got riled up again, and started howling that he had to poop and pee! Really the closest bathroom is our home, so I assured him we would leave as soon as we gave them our items. Fourty-five minutes after we arrived at the PO, we drove away.
By the time we got home, Owen was helpful, and encouraged me to run, run, run to the building so he could make it to the potty. He ate really well at lunch, and went right to sleep for a nap. It was SO time for the reset button.