The Garbage Truck

I don’t have a good reason for not getting the garbage out today. We slept in, Geister fought me tooth and nail to get his dirty overnight diaper changed, and then complained about every piece of clothing I offered to him. But somewhere during our spar-and-parry routine of “Let’s-put-this-on NO!”, I heard the dreaded sound of the garbage truck on our street.
I ran to the front windows to check—no sight of it, but still, I could hear the sound of a heavy truck that was just out of my line of vision, and while it could be one of the many construction trucks in our neighbourhood it could also be the garbage truck.

I ran downstairs with Boo in one arm, calling to Geister as I flew past his room that I was checking if the garbage truck was here. This left Geister to howl, “But Mommy don’t leeeaave me.”
“Hold on, I’ll get you in a minute,” I yelled back, as I threw open the front door and saw that, indeed, there was the garbage truck a few houses down on the opposite side of the street, but coming our way. And I saw that technically our side was already done, but it’s a short stub street with no traffic, so what difference does “side” make anyway?
In a panic (because I really have to get this garbage out before we go away for two weeks) I ran to put Boo down somewhere (no gate, don’t have time to wedge it in the doorway), grabbed the bag of garbage with my free hand, and ran barefoot and in my pajamas out to the curb.

There, I’m sure they totally saw me. I’m sure they’ll get my garbage. And they see I have a baby in my arms, so they’ll have lots of compassion for me and make an extra effort to grab my one bag of garbage. And, once they’re directly in front of my house, they may even see that my toddler is standing, without pants on, at the front door. So, we’re good. No problem. Oh. Wait a minute. Maybe they don’t see me. Why are they driving past my house? Oh no. Are those teenage garbage boys actually looking at me now as they hang off the back of the truck, and round the corner out of sight? They’re going to act as if they didn’t see my mad dash to the curb in my pajamas with a baby and one bag and now I’m stuck with this garbage?????

I retreated inside.
“Mommy!” Geister said, with a serious and concerned expression, “They didn’t take our garbage.”
“I know.”
“Mommy the garbage truck came and it didn’t take our garbage. It’s so sad. It’s so sad that the truck didn’t take our garbage can I get my pants on?”

And so it was. The sight of a pajama-clad mommy, holding a baby, and running to the curb does not play to garbage collectors, at least today on my street.