So this morning I took they boys to the park for a playdate. My husband overslept (we all did), so we had to wake up the kids so that I could drive him to work. I hate waking up the boys because they are just like me and turn into giant grouchy jerks if you don’t let them get their beauty rest, but my lovely husband vetoed my idea to just leave them home sleeping. Hey, I’m not completely irresponsible – the dog would have been here to watch them. But he said no. What an overprotective parent, but whatever. So he goes and grabs the baby and I am stuck getting Logan, who when I enter his room is not only asleep, but has both feet extended all the way through the slats on his headboard. Comfy. Now this is normally something I would get the camera for because it delights me to take pictures of my kids (and husband) whenever they are sleeping in weird positions. But no, we were in a hurry. In my opinion this morning already has two strikes. So I get Logan up and carry him to the car. He doesn’t say a word but rather makes a “what the heck” face. We drop my husband off at 8:30 without incident.
So we are supposed to be at the park for this playdate at 9:00, and we arrive back home at 8:50. This does not look good. So, being the mother of the year that I am, I pop a couple of waffles (fondly known as “rockles” in our home) in the toaster and load Liam up into the high chair and dump a bunch of freeze-dried yogurt and blueberry puffs on his tray. Logan hops up into his booster seat to eat his rockles, and Liam is shoving yogurt bites and puffs in his mouth gleefully with both of his hands. I really hope neither of them chokes (or if one of them does choke, he does it loudly enough for me to hear him from the shower, because that is where I am headed.) So I shower (fairly quickly in my defense), and when I come out I am pleased to see that Liam have moved on to sucking the yogurt essence out of his bib and Logan is feeding his rockle crusts to the dog. Yeah, I know that rockles don’t have crusts, but try to convince my two year old of that would ya, because he carefully pulls off the outside quarter-inch or so, and leaves it on his plate (or if I’m not looking, feeds it to the dog). So we all get ready and load up the car, arriving at the park at about 9:30. Ooops.
So I introduce myself to these new moms and Logan takes off playing. All is good till I see him doing the potty dance at the top of the big play structure. I risk the fate of my baby by asking one of the moms that I just met if she can keep an eye on him while I run Logan to the bathroom (she doesn’t look like a kidnapper or anything, so I figure he will probably be fine). So I coax Logan to come down the slide, and when he does I pick him up and run (yes actually run – see running him to the bathroom was not an expression) all the way across the park, which Logan finds both delightful and hilarious, (great planning by the way – keep the bathrooms as far from the small children as possible – that will end well) to the bathrooms and burst in the door. Logan then proclaims of the public bathroom “ewww, that’s yucky.” I strip him from the waist down because my toddler cannot be weighed down by even shoes while he pees (which by the way is awesome in public bathrooms). I plop him on the potty and he goes. Scorecard reads:
Not So Super Mama: 1
Toddler Sized Bladder: 0
That’s right; I’m awesome. We head back, and Liam is fine. No one kidnapped him or anything, so I’m pleased. All is well until Logan see other kids eating and wants a snack. Now, understand that this is the first time I’ve met these women and several of them seemed a little granola-y. Not in a bad way, just a little different from my family Now don’t get me wrong, we cloth diaper, buy organic when we can, ect. But I had overheard several of the women talking about what kind of foods they buy, and one gal was going wild by purchasing oatmeal for her house and another one does the raw foods thing. We eat healthy, but we’re kind of meat and potatoes people. So the only snack I have in my bag in Goldfish crackers, which we rarely have. I now feel like I’m the kid at the park trying to make new mom friends, and don’t want to stand out with my snacks. But Logan is hungry, so I try to at least slip them to him discreetly, like a toddler / mama drug deal going down in the park. I am secretly worried that they will see my processed, nutritionally void crackers and think that I am a bad mama. And now writing this I realize that giving him those crackers was probably one of my better parenting choices so far today.
Then shortly after consuming his contraband crackers, Logan decided to melt down. He didn’t want to play on the toys, he didn’t want to go eat lunch, he didn’t want to take a nap, he didn’t want to make Mommy pull out all of her hair, oh wait… I think he did want that last one. So I decided that it was time to go. I loaded up our stuff and I went to pick up Liam off the blanket and realized two things. 1: Liam had scooted all the way to the edge of the blanket near a good-sized bald patch of grass. And 2: The patch of grass was bald, courtesy on Liam. A point he proved by giving a big smile with his mouth full of grass clippings. On the plus side there were so many weeds in the grass that there is no way that they were using chemicals to kill the weeds and there were so many bald spots that they aren’t using fertilizer (or they are and they have a chronic problem with babies eating all of their turf…ahem) so I considered that an almost complete lunch for him of pretty much organic greens.
So we finally get going towards the car complete with my grassy baby and my grumpy, whiney toddler and Logan starts screaming bloody murder. It was lovely. Even the weird lady who was wearing two pairs of pants and looked like she hadn’t showered in 3 years was staring. Great. So in my desperation I began to threaten him with possible punishments. And in our house you don’t threaten with a punishment unless you are going to follow through on it. I started out easy; I told him he would have a time out when we got to the car. That didn’t phase him so I pulled out the big guns; no lunch and straight to nap. surprisingly he persisted (this kid loves his food), and low and behold we arrive home from the park and head straight for nap. Then suddenly someone announces that he is “ready to obey.” Tough luck mister. You can eat after nap. And he screamed. A lot. But I dealt with it, knowing that he needed to learn a lesson. Some more conservative parents may look down on me for withholding nourishment as a form of punishment, but they probably don’t let their kids munch on grass either, so whatever. And I would like to mention that when mister tantrum woke up, he was polite and tantrum free.
So the moral of the story: Kids, don’t cross me in public because I will starve you.