I’m having a tough time with Summer. I always tend to start out the summer vacation with great gusto (“Let’s paint! And go to the library!”), but end up in a puddle of motivation loss by about day 3. I think the kids seem to sense that they are treading on emotionally-fragile Mommy ground (with their mother one ridiculous kid-bickering-argument away from GOING INSANE) and it only serves to ramp up their noncompliance with the rules and their inability to help with housework. Gaaaaaah! Anyhow, here’s what’s been going on at Crazy Town:
Massive Monster Meltdown on Monday (how’s that for alliteration?). We got to town for Bellie’s t-ball game and she suddenly gasps and announces, “I forgot my shoes!” To be fair, I had reminded her to grab her mitt and water bottle, but, silly me…forgot to remind her about bringing shoes. (And six-year-olds have a lot on their minds so I should never assume shoes are a given) Now, I know a parent with a more “tough love” approach would have just said, “sad” and made her play the game in her stocking feet, but we had a little bit of time to kill so I ran to Walmart and grabbed some cheaply made slip-on Frozen sneakers off the shelf.
Shoes? We don’t need no stinkin’ shoes!
Trying to get out of there instantaneously, I was pushing that shopping cart like a bat out of hell and making my way to the register without pausing for anything. The 3-year-old, Spike, had other plans. For some reason every single Paw Patrol-themed item Walmart had for sale was on an end-cap at the exact height of my preschooler. And, being a preschooler, he wanted every single item. So, I arrived at the check-out with said preschooler under my arm while he proceeded to kick and scream “I WANT IT ALL!!!”
After paying (which is not the easiest feat while wrestling a 35-pound tornado and a baby who is trying to press the buttons on the credit card machine) and congratulating myself for getting the purchased shoes and kids to the car, I attempted to buckle Spike into his booster. He wasn’t having it. He wasn’t having it so much that I am pretty sure I almost popped a blood vessel from yelling at him (not my proudest moment). Bellie had about 5 minutes to get back to her game, and I finally was able to wedge Spike into his seat and buckle him. Victory.
Not so fast, momma. We begin to exit the Walmart parking lot and Spike has unbuckled himself and proceeds to thrash around and scream, “I don’t want to be strapped! I don’t want to!” So I come to an abrupt halt on the side of the road (I am pretty sure the drivers behind me were shooting me CMD looks – “Crazy mini-van driver”) and, my patience wearing very thin, I swatted Spike’s behind, threw him back in his booster and strapped him again.
Two seconds down the road later, the little monster is unbuckled again. We repeat the previous paragraph. Except this time I am screaming, “YOU NEED TO STAY BUCKLED IN YOUR SEAT OR YOU. WILL. DIE!!!!!! IF WE GET IN AN ACCIDENT YOU WILL FLY THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD AND YOU WILL DIE!!!!!! HORRIBLE HORRIBLE THINGS WILL HAPPEN TO YOU IF YOU DON’T STAY STRAPPED AND YOU.WILL. DIE!!!!!” I have gone completely off the rails this time and we are in a residential neighborhood and I am pretty sure people are on their phones calling Child Protection or the Behavioral Health Center and telling them a mom in a minivan is losing her mind and could you send somebody quick, perhaps with tranquilizers?
Well, this scares Spike into a stupor (although I don’t think he has much of a concept of life or death or flying through the windshield but I think the kid is terrified that he has made his mommy absolutely unhinged) and we proceed to the game in silence. The other kids are also maintaining a shocked quietude but probably thinking, “I’m glad I’m not the one who ticked Mom off.”
I hope Bellie learned her lesson about not forgetting her shoes next time.
After that disastrous day, I took Junior and Bellie to the circus that was in town. (As in, a professional circus. Not the circus that is my home.) I hadn’t been to a circus since I was a kid myself and it was fun. The kids really enjoyed it. They perform it outside at a racecourse in town, and the most hilarious thing happened during one of the acts. There was an animal trick show with a camel, two horses, and two miniature ponies. All was going well until the ponies decided, “Heck, we’re tired of this performing-for-treats stuff. We want to fulfill our dreams of being racehorses.” And they broke free from their ring and started hoofing it down the track. They made it almost all the way around before a couple of handlers thwarted their thoroughbred dreams and wrangled them back to where they belonged. But it was very entertaining.
The whole family went for a hike last weekend. It was nice, but at the beginning Bellie and Spike were complaining about being tired and not wanting to walk. The incentive I came up with? Poop. I told them to keep an eye out for horse or elk poop on the trail. I am proud to report that this was the motivation that kept them going.
Potty-training is stupid. This is what the 3-year-old says and I am inclined to agree with him.
Brexit. I am intrigued by this. I don’t know if it is good or bad, but if the pound stays down I am kinda wishing I was going to England this year. Needless to say, being a nerdy historian, seeing echoes of the isolationism that happened prior to WWI. Just curious to see where this all leads…
I am pretty sure that if I could find someone to grocery shop and cook for me I would probably be in a state of bliss most of the time.
Someone in here is poopy so I should probably go figure that out.
Have a great week!