I should probably save this for Das Not Funny! Friday, but I can't. I'm sure you'll see why in just a few minutes.
Friday was, by far, the worst day I've had as a stay-at-home mom in a long, LONG time. I was tired so I allowed myself to "sleep in" while the 3 oldest kids climbed into bed with me and enjoyed some cartoons. Since it's summer and Lucas and Ashlee don't have gymnastics on Friday mornings, it's become our lazy day...or our day for field trips depending on how busy the rest of the week has been.
Anyway, I had told the kids the day before that we would venture out to the park the next day. After being gone and traveling in the car for over a week, the LAST thing I wanted to do was load everyone up and go somewhere. But, our cabin was beginning to give us a fever so we decided the park was a good option. I even had bread to feed the "ducks" (read: obnoxious geese).
However, our plans were being quickly foiled minute by minute. I rolled out of bed at 8:30am and began our breakfast routine. By 9:30am everyone was fed and semi-dressed. Elizabeth, being the fashionista she is, naturally wanted to dress herself. At first she picked a nice little dress with some strappy gold sandals. When I informed her that she must wear tennis shoes rather than sandals since we were going to the park, she had a breakdown.
"Moooooommmm! Tennis shoes won't look good with this dress! Only gold sandals look perrrrrrrrfect!"
"Well," I said, shattering her dreams, "I guess you'll have to choose another outfit."
She stomped into her bedroom to pick something else out. Seriously, is she 16 already? Geesh.
While I am attempting to wipe 3/4 of Aaron's breakfast off the floor and table, Elizabeth re-imerges from her room with jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops. The heat index outside had to be 100 degrees so I politely inform her,
"Honey, you will be way too hot in those jeans. It's very hot outside. Why don't you go pick out some shorts, and remember you have to wear tennis shoes, okay?"
Again traumatic wails follow my totally unstylish advice. Then, she bends over and turns up the cuff of her jeans about 4 inches.
"There Mom, now they are cooler."
Although I did agree that her current selection of high-water jeans looked cooler (or at least according to what all the young ladies are wearing these days) they were not, in fact, cooler in terms of regulating her body temperature.
"I'm sorry Sweetie. Please just go put on some shorts."
Screams, wails and utter torture followed her (almost) 5 year old body into her bedroom. I turned around to see Aaron covered with banana and I smelled some, umm...poo. So, I begin washing him off in the sink in the laundry room.
Ashlee is scampering around the house signing something and stopping to shower brief hugs and kisses (read: torture and pull her head almost off) upon Baby Girl.
During all of this, Lucas is patiently waiting with his clothes on, shoes on and backpack securely placed on his back. He's standing by the door repeatedly asking me "Momma, wend we gonna goed to da park?"
"As soon as I get everyone ready, okay? But it's taking a little longer, alright Buddy?"
The stomping begins. Lucas' temper tantrums are usually prefaced by excessive stomping. It's sorta like a warning siren letting you know that the tornado is about to hit and, Lord have mercy, it's too late to take cover.
"Buddy, now don't act ugly or we just won't be able to go at all. Okay?"
I turn and finish washing up Aaron and place him on the changing table. His diaper is on and I'm buttoning his outfit when Lucas comes into the laundry room and says,
"Momma. I dropped the bulerbelden down the stairs."
"Oh, good honey. That's fine." I reply not really listening.
"No Mommy! I pushed da wadermeldon down da stairs."
My neck snaps around, "You did what?!?"
I sat Aaron half dressed onto the floor and opened the door to the basement. Sure enough, covering our carpeted stairs was a completely busted watermelon in all its glory.
We didn't make it to the park that day. In fact, I am going to honorably say that it was a pure miracle we all made it to bed that night...alive and in one piece. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.
Friday was, by far, the worst day I've had as a stay-at-home mom in a long, LONG time. I was tired so I allowed myself to "sleep in" while the 3 oldest kids climbed into bed with me and enjoyed some cartoons. Since it's summer and Lucas and Ashlee don't have gymnastics on Friday mornings, it's become our lazy day...or our day for field trips depending on how busy the rest of the week has been.
Anyway, I had told the kids the day before that we would venture out to the park the next day. After being gone and traveling in the car for over a week, the LAST thing I wanted to do was load everyone up and go somewhere. But, our cabin was beginning to give us a fever so we decided the park was a good option. I even had bread to feed the "ducks" (read: obnoxious geese).
However, our plans were being quickly foiled minute by minute. I rolled out of bed at 8:30am and began our breakfast routine. By 9:30am everyone was fed and semi-dressed. Elizabeth, being the fashionista she is, naturally wanted to dress herself. At first she picked a nice little dress with some strappy gold sandals. When I informed her that she must wear tennis shoes rather than sandals since we were going to the park, she had a breakdown.
"Moooooommmm! Tennis shoes won't look good with this dress! Only gold sandals look perrrrrrrrfect!"
"Well," I said, shattering her dreams, "I guess you'll have to choose another outfit."
She stomped into her bedroom to pick something else out. Seriously, is she 16 already? Geesh.
While I am attempting to wipe 3/4 of Aaron's breakfast off the floor and table, Elizabeth re-imerges from her room with jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops. The heat index outside had to be 100 degrees so I politely inform her,
"Honey, you will be way too hot in those jeans. It's very hot outside. Why don't you go pick out some shorts, and remember you have to wear tennis shoes, okay?"
Again traumatic wails follow my totally unstylish advice. Then, she bends over and turns up the cuff of her jeans about 4 inches.
"There Mom, now they are cooler."
Although I did agree that her current selection of high-water jeans looked cooler (or at least according to what all the young ladies are wearing these days) they were not, in fact, cooler in terms of regulating her body temperature.
"I'm sorry Sweetie. Please just go put on some shorts."
Screams, wails and utter torture followed her (almost) 5 year old body into her bedroom. I turned around to see Aaron covered with banana and I smelled some, umm...poo. So, I begin washing him off in the sink in the laundry room.
Ashlee is scampering around the house signing something and stopping to shower brief hugs and kisses (read: torture and pull her head almost off) upon Baby Girl.
During all of this, Lucas is patiently waiting with his clothes on, shoes on and backpack securely placed on his back. He's standing by the door repeatedly asking me "Momma, wend we gonna goed to da park?"
"As soon as I get everyone ready, okay? But it's taking a little longer, alright Buddy?"
The stomping begins. Lucas' temper tantrums are usually prefaced by excessive stomping. It's sorta like a warning siren letting you know that the tornado is about to hit and, Lord have mercy, it's too late to take cover.
"Buddy, now don't act ugly or we just won't be able to go at all. Okay?"
I turn and finish washing up Aaron and place him on the changing table. His diaper is on and I'm buttoning his outfit when Lucas comes into the laundry room and says,
"Momma. I dropped the bulerbelden down the stairs."
"Oh, good honey. That's fine." I reply not really listening.
"No Mommy! I pushed da wadermeldon down da stairs."
My neck snaps around, "You did what?!?"
I sat Aaron half dressed onto the floor and opened the door to the basement. Sure enough, covering our carpeted stairs was a completely busted watermelon in all its glory.
We didn't make it to the park that day. In fact, I am going to honorably say that it was a pure miracle we all made it to bed that night...alive and in one piece. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.