Lend Me a Hand?

I wish that I could spontaneously sprout arms. Especially now that my kids see the advantage of being naughty when I am glued to a chair with Lily.

As it is, Jeremy is super helpful. Yesterday, I had a boat load of errands to do and was without the convenience of seat belts in a cart. I kind of wish they had them at the pediatrician's office. Jeremy came home early to be my other set of hands. Our first stop was the doctor's office. I think the nurses accelerate patients with multiple siblings because we were in and out of there. Usually I am sitting in the waiting room for exactly 29 minutes (they have a big sign that says, "If you have been waiting more than 30 minutes, please notify the receptionist), and after they see me into a room, I am sitting there until the doctor decides he has had enough solitaire and quiche and condescends to give my kids a once-over and a sticker.

After everyone got their sticker and a shot (except Josh. And Eva proclaimed, after getting her Hepatitis B shot that she wanted more...I hope she was referring to the colorful bandaids...), we left there and went down to the City to get Lily's birth certificate.

Again, super fast trip, other than waiting for a maintenance man to finish changing a light bulb so I could pay $18 for Lily's document (what the...?!?!?!!). Plus, the City is smart enough to equip all the offices with toys. My kids were happily occupied. And I was pleasantly surprised by running into an old schoolmate and we reminisced about our weird English teachers (is that redundant?) at UVU while I waited.

We zoomed out of there and went to the Social Security Office. I personally think it should be named "The Seventh Level of Hades." (I only say "Hades" because I don't want to offend people by saying "Hell." Oh, wait....) Holy Schmoly...I wisely left the kids in the car with Jeremy.
I don't know why, but the SS office is overrun by scary/weird people. When I walked in, I was immediately accosted by a very strange, yet helpful, individual who felt the need to tell me a) why she was there, b) about the texts she was getting on her phone, c) about her girlfriend, and d) anything else she could think of while she held my attention. The other people who filtered in after I got there were from different planets, I am pretty sure (there was a nice couple who came in later, but then again, they only seemed nice, so who knows...). As I sat there, trying not to make eye contact with anybody as to not anger them, I listened into the conversations going on between the people and the SSA clerks. It was like watching a soap opera live. If it weren't for the highly entertaining drama going on I think I would have curled up on the floor under a chair and waited for them to call my number. The whole time, I was staring at the little piece of paper in my hand and willing the clerks to call my number.

When they did at last, I exclaimed "Hallelujah," much to the amusement of the security guard, zoomed up, asked for what I needed, asked the poor harangued clerk if he enjoyed his job, and left that horrible place.

Apparently, the kids did not enjoy being in their car seats for 45 minutes because they had descended into complete anarchy and Jeremy had lost all patience with his tiny people. A few calm words, sticks of gum, and promises of french fries made everyone happy and we left.

I wanted to go home and scrub my body. For the life of me, I don't understand why the SSA picked the ghetto in downtown Provo to house their office. I was seriously wishing as I sat there that I could do as they requested: "Thank you for visiting the SS office. Next time, try our website instead."