Or at least it looks bad. . .really bad. . .
Husband is out-of-town for work.
And because I’m the proud, well-documented lazy-ass mother of a 15 month-old, I decided I should invite my Mother to visit for a few days.
Sunday evening after a wild day of birding (3 rarities – 1 of which was mega), while my Husband realized somehow his travel plans were all jacked up, and all the smoke detectors in the house went off after Mac was asleep, I realized perhaps I had made a few errors in judgment regarding Mimi Carol’s visit.
Yet, the day dawned here, cool and clear, and seemed positively full of promise. I was up at 5:30 and got Husband out the door and on his way for an unpleasant day of air travel and nearly immediately got to cleaning, cooking, and grooming in anticipation of my Mother’s arrival.
So when Mom texted me at 9:08 that they were just leaving town, I knew Mac and I had time for a walk. . .
Destination? The liquor store (via the Canton Waterfront). At 9:15 AM.
Please reserve your judgment. . .It was a Raven’s home game. Mother was coming. I was going to have to single-handedly wrangle the kid, dogs, and cats for days on end!
I can make all the excuses I want. . .
I very boldly took my kid, into a liquor store at shortly after 9 AM on a MONDAY!!!!
And while I was signing the slip for the half-gallon of rum and wine I had just purchased, the little lady behind the counter offered me this:
Because clearly, anyone that drags their kid in a stroller into a liquor store at 9:15AM needs it.
And that’s some gospel for certain.
“Oh, yes, please,” I blurt enthusiastically, and then I shamefully snatched up my receipt and wedged the copious amounts of liquor into the basket under Mac who was patiently waiting in his stroller.
We stepped into the crisp air and I tucked “Our Daily Bread” into the bottom of the stroller close to the handle of Bacardi.
Mac and I agreed we would walk down to the water and tool around for a bit of exercise and to kill some time.
After we took our booze and religious literature loaded stroller down to the water and ate some Cheerios with a glorious view of Fort McHenry, we retraced our steps towards home.
And about two blocks into our retreat, as we approached our Church, we nearly literally bumped into Father Dennis. Yeah. The Priest that baptised Mac. There he was, in his collar with a cup of coffee from The Fire House Coffee Co., or Cup Love or wherever headed back towards his office. . .or to bless something. . .or whatever Priests do during their day.
But of course, he wasn’t too busy to stop and say hello. He crouches down to acknowledge Mac. . .
And UNDOUBTEDLY CATCHES A GLIMPSE OF THE BOOZE I’M HAULIN’ BENEATH HIM AT barely 10:30 IN THE MORNING.
JESUS. (Seriously, I’m pretty sure that’s what Father Dennis said in his head).
And then do you know what happens?
Father Dennis says, “How are you today?”
And I reply exuberantly, “It’s really hard to be anything less than wonderful on a day like this.”
I was referring to the weather; however, his hasty departure made me unsure.
DId he think I said that because of the booze I was haulin’ in the stroller?
He’s going to pray for me isn’t he?