A Walk in the Park

I am walking down the trail with a sense of urgency. A is in the double-jogger, whining, "I waaant a snack," after just having eaten her snack minutes earlier. C is strapped to my chest in his front carrier wailing loud screams of agony. He's just gotten his tears, so his sweet, little face looks even more pitiful than usual with all the tears streaming. Despite the loud yells that not even top walkman volume can drown out, I am calm, smiling at passersby, who I notice are all looking down as if to avoid eye contact. I can't imagine why. Oh, and did I mention that the stroller has a flat tire?

Let's go back to the beginning of the jog that started with such promise.... I arrive at the track with happy children. A grabs her new book and C snoozes quietly in the stroller. My run seems easy, and I quickly fall into a nice stride, when I notice the jogger seems awfully difficult too push, more difficult than usual. (Understand my three month old son weighs 15 lbs. 6 oz.) I look down to see the right-side tire is almost flat. "Awww man," I moan. I call T , who assures me that it will not damage the tire to keep on running, so I continue. Then I hear, "Mommy, I need juice."

"Mommy forgot your juice, and you just had something to drink."

"I need to potty."

Not now, not now. "You just pottied two minutes ago, sweetheart." I really think it is her attempt to go back home, so I keep running. If she asks again, we'll turn around. She doesn't mention it again.

Three miles, I make it three miles, non-stop. Truly a milestone, considering the horrible shape I'm in. Getting back into marathon shape with two is much more difficult than it was with one. But, what a fun challenge it presents. My celebration is cut short, though, when I see A leaning over her brother. "A , stop that, he's sleeping. Do not wake him up!" Or what, I think. It's too late, though. C opens his eyes and in minutes is crying. The crying escalates until we get to the half-mile marker where I unfasten his seatbelt and fasten him into the front carrier that I actually remembered to put into the stroller. I think this is might be a small example of what Paul meant when he wrote about perseverance producing character, etc.

And here is where you found us at the beginning. My desire to get back in my old clothing vs. my sanity. I pick up the pace even more (at least my angels motivate me to push harder at the track), and we finally make it back to the car. I unload cranky kids into the car, where A stops whining and C stops crying. I wrestle with the stroller and finally bodyslam it into its folding position and hoist it into the car. I can only laugh and remind myself that parenting isn't for the faint of heart.

Side note: My little pumpkin cracks me up. She is learning to sing along with the radio, and it is the cutest thing ever. She's memorized most of the Veggie Tales songs, and when her daddy is listening to the hair band channel on XM. She'll say, "I like this song; turn it up." :)

Library Lunacy

I love the library, being surrounded by books, marvelous books. Yes, little brother, your sister is a nerd to the core. I love the feel, the smell, the look of books, opening one for the first time, wondering what story is waiting to be told. My dream is to one day own a quiet little store that sells rare books, located, of course, in a lovely, southern coastal resort town. My husband, I'm sure, would love this retirement plan.

So imagine my surprise when everytime I take my daughter to the library, she absolutely falls apart. What is it about books and story time that causes my angel to suddenly morph into an uncontrollable, oh I don't know....toddler?! Last week, it was spitting at the librarian. The week before she yelled at children who weren't dancing the "bean bag dance" appropriately. We've pushed, shoved, run down the stairs then back up them with mom trying not to drop baby C , but today, today was the one time I actually wanted to become a book and hop quietly on the shelf.

A walks in, proudly displaying her Wiggles big girl panties for anyone who wanted to see. I, carrying C in his 14 1/2 pound glory in his 15 lb. pumpkin seat, stumble in trying to pull A 's dress down, a complete nervous wreck, wondering if she is going to actually use the potty or her Wiggles undies. A jumps in and starts singing, then spots the big yellow bus taped carefully to a table, obviously a prop for story time. While all of the other children sit quietly, my little force runs to the bus, hits it and runs back to me, repeat 100 times. I jump up and down trying to catch her while also trying to keep C happy and occupied in his carrier. In the midst of this chaos, I am also sporadically trying to maneuver A to the restroom so she doesn't wet in her big girl pants.

First trip to the potty, she freaks out over the tubing from the self-cleaning apparatus.

Second trip: "Let's go to the other bathroom," I suggest. So, C and I escort her to the other, smaller, lower potty in the next room. "I not like big potties."

"It's the only one sweetheart. We have to use it."

"NO!" she yells.

"Please," I plead. "Don't use your pants." I am already trying to figure out how to discreetly clean the carpet.

"No big potty!" I take her by the arm and lead her back to story time. She looks up and says, "Mommy, I wet my pants." ARRRRRGH! (in my head, of course).

We walk over to my purse, where I have trusted no one will bother it while I run in circles through the library trying to tame my eldest or take her back and forth to the potty. I grab new underwear and am ready to take A back to the potty. I look up to discover that my sweetie has taken off her underwear, lifted her dress, grabbed a diaper, laid down in the floor, and is saying, "Put on a diaper mommy." I am looking for a hole that fits three and wondering why they still allow us into the library.

I quickly put on A s diaper with one hand, while holding C with the other. A calms down. I think a lot of her angst and rowdy behavior was due to nervousness over the whole potty thing, so I give her a big hug and kiss and tell her that I love her so much and am so proud of her for trying to wear big girl pants out and about and tell her to go play with the other kids. The rest of the time runs smoothly until we are on our way to the car, where A runs out the entry way to the children's library while I am collecting C and books. She manages to get on the elevator, and I manage to stick my foot up to keep the door from closing and hop on with her. That elevator normally takes five minutes to travel from the first to second floors, but not today, no, not today. We leave the library, where I breathe a great sigh of relief and wonder if I should take A out for paintball or rock climbing instead. Maybe one day, she'll feel the quiet thrill of a day at the library. And if she doesn't, that's okay, too. I love my girl for her unique, adorable, energetic personality even if it does leave me with wrinkles and gray hair way before my time:) (She is a ton of fun, if you can just keep up with her.)