I'm That Mom You Love To Hate: Post Office Edition

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That's right, today was a two-for-one terrorize the town day!

After going to Target we went to the post office. Because I apparently am a sucker for punishment.

It started out fine. We live in a quiet town. Our post office is small, and my children are mostly harmless in there, so long as I keep them away from the card stand. (Because that is my second least favorite sorting game: cards.) 

There was no line, so I put my important box I've been collecting stuff for my Bestie in for months. (That's our thing. We both have open boxes in our houses that we stuff full of stuff we must share with the other, because it isn't easy not living down the street from each other anymore. Occasionally we tape them up and mail them across the country.) 

Post Office Attendant, with a smile: That will be $48.

Me: Please hold while I pick my jaw up off the ground. 

The flat rate box is $18 and slightly smaller. My kids are quietly standing next to me. I have a roll of tape and I've written her address on an inspirational Dr. Seuss notepad page I keep in my car for this exact purpose. So many times I've had to change boxes at the last minute. I have learned. 

I tell the girls we are going to do a puzzle, borrow some scissors and go find a corner out of the way. We get to work. At first they are super helpful. 

This box is now 50% heavier, thanks to an entire roll of tape and the fact that my kids can't keep said tape out of their hair.

We make it work. A woman has come into the post office and is at the counter, so we get in line. I can't hold both a 25 pound squirmy toddler and a 25 pound box of books and random grocery store finds, so I let the toddler go. She was only going to throw out my back anyway. The entryway to our post office and the PO Box room has an echo. It is also a race track. The mailroom people have told me innumerable times that every child that enters the post office immediately starts yelling and running in circles, but I don't believe them. One day, my children will not see this space as an invite to test the laws of physics. Today was not that day. 

I at least manage to capture one with the bribe of a fun lunch. The other lays down in protest.

Whatever, kid. As long as you don't trip someone or start yelling again.

Just as I toss the gigantic box back on the scale and prepare to pay my $18, my preschooler starts to think of Maurice Sendack.

Preschooler: Why was Max's dinner still hot? He wasn't supposed to have dinner because he misbehaved!

Me: Would a mommy really send him to bed without dinner for being a bit wild?

Post Office Worker: Yes! You heard about that abused boy they just found, right? They think his mother didn't feed him for months.


...


And we're out.