Yesterday was not a stellar mommy day for me. The babes are ganging up and alternately partying all night long. I am tired and stressed and stir crazy in a home that is not mine. I start a million projects and cannot finish a one.
A half done big boy swing sits on the back deck waiting to be hung from the tree. An Ikea Rast hack waits to be poly’d and the knobs put on. And one half of our bedroom has had the pin holes filled from the many, many, many Jenny McCarthy and Heather Locklear posters that decorated them back when TOTT was a teen.
(Good Lord, someday my babes will want girly posters won’t they?)
I was over tired and over cranky. And shall we say I am back in the “I can get pregnant” game. knowwhatImeandontwearwhitejeans? I suggested the playground. The Boss said no. I suggested the soccer place. The Boss said no. I said FINE. I had to return some stuff at the mall and thanks to Pinterest I recently learned that Payless of all places had $19 knock offs of the $300 JCrew wedges I’ve been obsessing over. Plus there is Starbucks and a playcenter at the mall. So off we went.
The Boss insisted on wearing his new flip flops assuring me he could keep them on. He couldn’t. Yes, my child was the white trash kid running around the mall barefoot while his exasperated mother, near tears, chased after him pushing a sleeping baby in a double stroller roughly the size of an RV. It corners just as well. I grabbed a pair of sandals for him and he promised to wear them.
We stopped for Starbucks.
Me: MAX. Shoes on.
Max: Shoes OFF!
Me: Max! SHOES ON!
He stood there smiling at me wearing one shoe.
Whatever. You can’t wear shoes at the play place anyway. He ran around like a maniac playing with various children, his laughter and happy shrieks worth every antibacterial wipe I would obviously attack him with as soon as he was done. After he was ready he – get this- asked for a PRETZEL and we ended up at Auntie Anne’s. Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.
We came home, curled up with a little Nemo and I resigned myself to just trying not to be too cranky. He was such a good boy today and I was such a crab. I hate myself on days like that. I did everything I was supposed to do. I fed him and bathed him. He was so adorable post shower jumping on the bed and singing but I kept saying Max! Get over here, put on your pajamas. Teeth were brushed, books were read, and we lay cuddled in bed together. I told him how much I loved him and asked him what his favorite part of the day today was, certain it would be the super special ‘coffee’ that they make him at Starbucks that is only for boys who can count to ten, know their ABC’s and are the best big brother ever (also known as a kids hot vanilla milk) or playing with the kids at the play place.
He tossed a soft and chubby arm around my neck and said when I was jumping. At the play place? I asked. No, on the bed.he said I love bouncing on the bed.
His favorite part of the whole day and there I was yelling at him to stop it, knock it off, calm down, STOP JUMPING.
I snuggled him back and promised him that there would be lots of bouncing tomorrow. That I would finish that dang big boy swing. He cuddled closer and fell asleep and I lay there going over my failures today. Nothing major, small things. Tomorrow will be better I tell myself.