Yesterday I took the kids to the park. This was after putting their laundry away, dressing and grooming (one small tantrum over hair bows) them, cooking and cleaning up their breakfast, unloading the dishwasher, cleaning the downstairs bathroom and finishing a blog. Then I changed their diapers, put their sunblock and shoes on and loaded them into the car. I had also packed a picnic so that they could play for an extra long time.
They got to play with lots of other kids and I got to talk to their parents. I also got to push them on the swings for forty-five minutes (pushing two kids is very different from pushing one and should definitely count as a work out) and play tag with them. Ironflower has now become concerned about me finding friends at the park, just as I have always encouraged her. Yesterday she even asked another mom if the woman would be my friend. It was quite adorable.
As our two and half hours were winding down, a mom with twin girls came to the now emptied park. Ironflower was excited about the twin babies and all the kids had a good time in the sandbox together. Naturally the mom and I had a nice chat. We talked about temperaments. The woman looked dubious as I explained that Ironflower had gone from a somewhat mellow baby to a very melodramatic toddler. At this point, Ironflower was sweetly sharing a bucket with one of the twins and singing to herself. She looked like an angel.
Then I reminded her that we had actually gone way over her extra five minutes and that it was time to go. "NOOOOOOOOOOO! I WANT FIVE MORE MINUTES! NOOO!" As she screamed at me, she proceeded to throw sand in my direction. Fortunately, she did not get any of the other kids in the eye. Nonetheless, I swooped down, picked her up and placed her in the stroller.
I was mortified. She had had warnings. She had had two and half hours. I squatted down in front of her as she tried to cry and pout and whine at the same time. "Ironflower, if you had asked me nicely for five more minutes, you would have gotten them. But instead you yelled and threw sand, so you are not getting what you want."
"You were so calm," the other mom said admiringly as I went to help Lovebug out of the sandbox. I felt bad. My calm expires by the fourth episode of the day, truth be told. If Ironflower has more than three tantrums, by the last one I am yelling things like, "You don't yell at me, young lady!" I didn't want her to get that mom inferiority complex that I always get around the people who never yell. "You should see me at about 7 o'clock," I said consolingly. The mom smiled gratefully.
I put Lovebug in the stroller and denied Ironflower's requests for treats, toys and her hat. I loaded the diaper bag and the picnic bag on my shoulder. We walked to the car, Ironflower complaining that she wanted to push the stroller, me explaining that she could have if she hadn't thrown a fit. I loaded each kid in, then the bags and the stroller.
As I turned the key in the ignition, I realized I was exhausted. And it was only 1:45pm. Nap time loomed after the drive home. I reviewed my plans for nap time: exercise, dust and shower. I scrapped them for these: book in the back yard. Do you think I should feel bad about this?
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