When I had kids, I kind of assumed that I’d mess them up to some extent. Therapy was inevitable and I’ll be glad to get them aboard the therapy train when necessary. Everyone should have therapy…it makes us all better people. My kids might need a few more sessions than some. I mean…there aren’t any wire hanger tirades involved, but things aren’t exactly the Brady Bunch up in here.
We went up to The Shack for the first time with the girls this weekend. I did not, by any stretch of the imagination, think that this was going to be an easy or fun trip. The first trip of the year usually sucks. The place needs to be opened up and there’s no snacks and so forth. But add two three month olds into the mix and you have a long weekend ahead of you.
Our trip up coincided with Free Comic Book Day. The Mister and I miscommunicated on several parts of this. I thought he should just forgo it for the year. He thought he should just transfer his usual stops near our home to places on the way. When he was waiting in line at a place halfway between our home and The Shack, the girls decided our attempts to feed them early were not good enough so they started screaming. In the van. At the same time. With just me to tend to them. Eventually, I pulled them both out, found a park bench and fed them from there until The Mister came back. But there were several attempts at running from one side of the van to the other to please them.
Strike one: displeased girls.
Then, we got up there and things were decent. We even went into town for dinner. At night, they were in their Magic Sleep Suits (which are kind of magic and very well insulated) and I closed the window in their room when it got cooler. We didn’t even light the furnace pilot light since it was warm enough and predicted to stay warm enough through the night. They didn’t wake up until 4:30 am! Awesome.
Except when they did their hands were FREEZING cold because the temperature dropped so much during the night. The rest of them was toasty warm, though. Because lighting the pilot light requires daylight and patience, I put them back to bed with socks on their hands to keep their hands from being cold.
Strike two: frozen baby hands.
The next morning we had breakfast and surveyed potential dock space for the boat. After some playtime and another feeding, we got in the car to head home. It wasn’t until we pulled over at a rest stop when they started to fuss for food that I realized…I left their bottles and the formula in the fridge up north. We were, once again, halfway between The Shack and Home. So we got back in the car and I looked up the nearest grocery store on the way to the freeway. We were then stopped by a wall of traffic. There was a road closure due to construction and it took us 15 minutes to get to the store that was about three miles away. Then I had to go in and buy the stuff…on a Sunday afternoon. And, of course, Ellie was NOT about to eat in her car seat in the car. So we had to then drive to a McDonald’s to feed them.
Strike three: pissed off kids. And I mean PISSED.
I apologized profusely to the girls as they cried before they got their food. I know it didn’t matter to them that I apologized and they won’t remember this and they’re going to be just fine. But it felt like I should bend over backwards to make their day better.
So we got home and they got settled until bedtime. As Ellie started to fuss in my arms I noticed that her big toenail had finally popped out and was sharp as hell. The girls toenails were kind of inbedded at first as they were born prematurely. Emma’s had already popped out but not Ellie’s. So I grabbed the tiny nail scissors and trimmed it…only to nick what I’m sure was a major vessel to the heart located in her big toe. Blood pooled out everywhere. I’m pretty sure my shirt was ruined. She was upset but I don’t know if it was from that or just being fussy. Either way…
Flagrant foul: (yes I’m mixing up my sports metaphors): slicing open baby’s foot like Sweeney Todd.
All of this as we enter the week leading up to my first Mother’s Day. I was joking with The Mister in the car about how he needs to make this Mother’s Day a true extravaganza as it’s my first (and by “joking” i mean being totally passive aggressive because he really does…I mean, come on…). I’m sure after this weekend’s therapy-inducing activities, it’ll be a real barn burner.
I know every mother has these moments and their kids turn out fine. I just had to shake my head and laugh at myself last night. It’s not often that you follow insult up with true injury.