Lest you think Thursdays are boring

As I returned the laundry keys to the porter this afternoon, he informed me that even though I thought I had signed up do do laundry next week on Tuesday and Thursday, either through his error or mine, that wasn't going to be possible. Instead I would be doing laundry on Wednesday and Thursday. O.k. fine. "Can you just sign me up for Tuesday and Thursday for the following week?" I asked. "No problem, " he assured me. So, off I went to my happy little abode, where the scent of clean laundry filled the air.

A few hours later, Weston woke up from his nap completely soaked. (Being able to go potty by yourself doesn't really count during naps). "O.k." I thought, "the extra sheets are hanging on the line now, and we have a good breeze. They should be dry by bedtime (hopefully)."

A while later, I loaded up all the kids and we headed off in one direction, while Jeff headed off in another--but not before Jeff asked me if I had my key. I always have my key, so I didn't even bother to check. (On Thursdays I have Portuguese tutoring, and the kids love to go and play with my teacher's kids. At that same time, Jeff goes to our friend's English school to assist with the advanced English class). Moments after I arrived at my Portuguese teacher's house, her husband took Ruth and Weston with him to go pick his kids up from school.

Just as my teacher and I sat down to begin, the phone rang. It's Jeff. This unnerves me, because I can only think that something terrible has happened to him en route to his destination. No. The only thing that happened was that he heard from his brother and is changing his plans so as to have an opportunity to spend some quality brother time with Alan. He named the restaurant they were planning to go to and told me he would just meet me at church a little later.

Just as we finish up the Portuguese class, in walk the children with quite a tale to tell. Apparently, after they picked up the other kids from school, Mr. Douglas insisted on taking everyone out for ice cream. Yippee! Unfortunately, Mr. Douglas doesn't speak much English and Weston's urgent bathroom message couldn't be conveyed in a timely manner. So, once again the boy was soaked--and covered with pink ice cream, I might add. Oh well. What can you do?

We arrived back at our building, where the big kids gleefully made a dash for the elevator, as always. They were already there and inside when the porter stopped me. Turns out that one way or another, the laundry days I wanted for the week after next are not going to work out. I can do the laundry on Wednesday and Thursday, but not on Tuesday, as requested. I spend a few moments discussing this with him, and look up to find Ruth standing by my side but not Weston.

I didn't have to ask where he was, because about that time I could hear weeping and wailing ascending through the walls. That's right, Weston was on a solo elevator ride and he was completely freaking out. The porter immediately got on the phone to who-knows-who, trying to get them to intervene. I hopped on the other elevator with the other kids, seeing that the one Weston is in has been called to our floor, and thinking he might get off there if it seems familiar to him. The weeping and wailing continue and increase in volume and severity, as we are now in the shaft next to him. We arrive on the 8th floor but Weston isn't there, though we can certainly still hear him. I pushed the button again and a few seconds later the door opened to a sad and sobbing little boy. I wanted to cry, too, I admit.

Well, at least we are home and can get him into some dry clothes and feed him some dinner. That will surely make him feel better. But, wait, where is my apartment key?! No really. WHERE IS IT??!! This is unbelievable! It's nowhere to be found. So, we ALL hop back on the elevator to see if the porter has a spare. "No," he says, "but if we want to have one made to leave with him for next time..." He has no time to finish--and really there is no need--since my brood and I are already halfway out the front door.

I know where the restaurant is that Jeff was going to. I will just go get the key from him and this will all be over. Oh, but the sidewalks here in Brazil. And this darn double stroller. There are no ramps. These kids are heavy. And it's rush-hour. At least it's close. We made it over to the restaurant, only to find it seemingly closed and completely devoid of patrons. O.k. the church service will be starting in an hour. I'll just go grab something for the children to eat at the little convenience store across the street from the church and wait for Jeff.

A table is procured and food is purchased. We will all feel better after we have something to...
You're kidding me! You spilled your water?! Oh well, we'll just clean it up with these slick, plastic completely unabsorbent napkins. (Think little plastic sheets you get your doughnuts with at the grocery store or possibly popcorn bag).

Meanwhile, I'm scandalizing the entire nation of Brazil by drinking my water straight out of the bottle instead of pouring it into the flimsy plastic cup provided. Fortunately, though, I had my kids drink out of those cups. This diverts attention away from my faux pas, as one of those cups has been left within reach of the baby and water is now streaming down another side of the table.

Finally, we meet up with Jeff, snag the key and scoot on back to our apartment, only to find that Max has a very messy diaper, requiring me to use the dreaded Brazilian wipes, which are akin to the aforementioned napkins but really sudsy.

From where I sit, I'd say Thursdays are anything but boring.