My dog ate Maya Angelou.

This is something you should read if you've had A Real Day and you need to know that other people have these sorts of Days too.

It would have been funny if it wasn't me, so please do laugh at my expense so that at least someone can get some good old joy out of this Tuesday's mishaps.

It all started with the wisdom teeth.

My husband recently had a less than fun experience getting one wisdom tooth removed with his regular dentist, so an oral surgeon was recommended for the other three because apparently sedation is more pleasant.

Today was the day.

We drove into the big smoke (a big deal for us #smalltownlife folk) and found the surgeon's office. All was fine. Maya Angelou was still in one piece at this point, as far as I'm aware.

When my toddler and I left my husband at the surgery, I figured we could go hang out at Te Papa while we waited. She loves it there and who doesn't enjoy seeing the giant squid?

So we got back to the car and it was pouring with rain and I paid for the overpriced parking ticket that we had used for all of two seconds. Now all we had to do was make it to Te Papa, explore for a bit, and then head back when the nurse gave me a call. Sounds easy, right?

However, I had overestimated how good I'd be at driving in an unfamiliar city. The endless one-way roads. The bus lanes. The little streets without signs that you aren't sure whether they're for cars or pedestrians or solely vape shops.

Since leaving behind where I grew up for this little town halfway down the country almost two years ago, I can probably count on one hand how many times I've driven in "the city" and so I seem to have lost my nerve. 

Let's just say that we didn't make it to Te Papa. We just did plenty of stress circles instead.

We did so many stress circles and wrong turns that I needed to get more petrol by the time the nurse called to say that I could pick my husband up.

I walked into the recovery room and he excitedly showed me his teeth in a little plastic bag and muttered in gibberish and drooled blood. Being the fantastic, supportive partner that I am, I took photos to show him later. He then promptly fell asleep while the nurse instructed me on gauze and mouthwash. 

I'm pretty sure I immediately forgot 90% of what she said (aside from "no straws!", I don't know why I remember that point in particular), so I'm very grateful all of the instructions were written down too.

I then carried our squirming toddler, her donkey, and her gumboots to fetch the car from the second overpriced carpark. To my own surprise, I actually managed to parallel park (I have no idea how, I literally haven't done that since I got my restricted license seven years ago) right in front of the office. It then took me and two very patient nurses to guide him into the car and it was a relief to get him buckled in, because he was so obsessed with his teeth in the little bag that I wouldn't have put it past him to take off down the road to show his work colleagues. 

Anyway, we still needed to get petrol.

The next 20 minutes were spent trying to find the right petrol station (I stubbornly had a voucher I wanted to make the most of), my husband asking approximately every 5 minutes where we were going and trying to drive, and me locating his little bag of teeth about four times (he kept panicking that he'd "lost" them - he was holding them in his other hand). 

We finally got petrol, my husband fell asleep, and I thought, "thank goodness, we can just calmly drive home now."

Then it was my toddler's turn.

It was rush hour. There was a lot of traffic and she was hangry and over being in the car.

I'd hand her a snack and she'd take one bite then throw it on the floor. Same with her water bottle. Same with the stuffed donkey.

They all ended up on the ground and that just made her more upset and I couldn't reach them because I was driving and it was raining and my husband was half laying on me from the passenger seat.

She grizzled and whined most of the way home and then when we finally pulled into the driveway over an hour later, I thought again, "thank goodness, we are home now."

Then it was the dog's turn. Well, actually, it was everyone's turn.

I got our toddler upstairs. She was grumpy because it was late and she wanted dinner and she'd been stuck in the car for too long. I then tried to help my husband get up the stairs. He decided to crawl up instead.

We then greeted the dog who was very excited to see us and to show us what she'd been up to.

Seven words.

Crayon-chomping-highlighter-engulfing-Maya-Angelou-eating.

She is normally very well behaved, but she'd chosen today of all days to eat almost the entirety of my toddler's craft box and to rip to shreds a kid's library book about Maya Angelou.

Please tell me, dear dog, what did Maya Angelou ever do to you? And why did you have to pick a lovely book about a civil rights activist and poet and storyteller? Why couldn't you have at least chosen that hideous Noisy Thomas Sound book or at least a book that actually belongs to us?!

To summarize the rest of the evening: my husband continues to drool blood and groan on the sofa while holding his little bag of teeth. I try to measure out all of his drugs while stopping my toddler from eating them. The toddler throws her dinner that she cried for the whole journey home, on the floor. Dog eats more highlighters. I scrub the ink stains from our brand new carpet. Toddler and dog join forces, hellbent on destroying everything in sight (don't you just love witching hour?). I sit in a puddle of bathwater and beg aloud, "can you both please just stop destroying EVERYTHING for one second?!?!" Husband falls asleep clutching his little bag of teeth. I apologize to the dog and the toddler. We read Animals for Kiwi Babies x3 and That's Not My Polar Bear x1. Everything is okay again.

To end, I'd like to issue a formal apology to Maya Angelou, our district library, my husband, my toddler, my dog, and anyone else driving in the city today.

Today has been a Day.