Last night I decided to be a GOOD Mommy and take my kids on a walk around the neighborhood. Big deal right?
Wrong. First, the high today was in the 90’s, and it’s been raining a lot, so it is VERY humid outside. I thought going at 7ish would be better, but it was still sticky and hot.
All three of my daughters INSISTED on riding their scooters on said walk. I could have said no. I should have said no. But we don’t do this as often as we should, so I gave in. This was my second mistake of the evening. (the first could arguably be the date I picked to go…)
Third mistake was not bringing a water bottle. Silly me thought since we were just going around the block, there wasn’t a need. But according to my five-year-old, I pretty much committed the unpardonable sin by this omission.
We were only up the street when my three-year-old handed her scooter over to me to carry. I sighed, having expected it already, but irritated none the less. Hey, in my defense, it was HOT, which breeds irritability.
She ran on, happy as can be, and caught up with her eldest sister. Lacy lagged with me, trying very hard to master her scooter skills. A block later, she looks at me. “Mommy, I can’t do it.”
Like the wonderful, nice, caring Mother I am, I replied, “Yes, you can. Because I am NOT, I repeat NOT, carrying that dad gum scooter.” I may have inserted the word stupid as well. I don’t remember… did I mention it was hot? Very hot?
We kept walking for a bit, and she stopped again. “Mommy, I need scooter lessons.”
“They don’t have scooter lessons, Lacy.”
A few more houses down. “You should have brought a water bottle.”
I seethe. “But I didn’t. There’s nothing I can do about that now.”
She proceeds to stomp her foot, jut out her lip and do that little mad squeal only five-year-old little girls can master. “But I’m HOT Mommy. I want a water bottle NOW!”
I’m thinking… yes, let’s just knock on someone’s door and beg for one. That’ll be just great. Aloud, I say, “Lacy, I don’t have one. Hurry up so we can get home and get a drink there.”
We rounded another corner, and the complaining continued, and I got more irritable, if that is even possible. Then we see a big ole black dog. No leash. No owner in site.
This does not bode well. AT ALL!
We walk quickly past the dog, me with a three-year-old now permanently attached to my leg. The canine proceeds to follow us until a lady walking the other direction with a dog passes us. Thankfully, he decides the other dog is more interesting… or tasty… then three girls and a hot, mad mom.
We arrive home, and I declare that our next walk will be scooterless. When I get the resounding, “BUT MOM”‘S I stomp my OWN foot this time and squeal like only a mad, hot mother can do.
Then I come inside, relay my angst to Jody via twitter, and sit down to vent via my blog.
Discussion: I could sit here and give you all sorts of writing analogies for my story. Conflict anyone? But, um, yeah. It just feels like a stretch. So let’s discuss the last ill-advised thing you have done, where you look back and think, “What in the world was I thinking???” I think we could get some VERY fun stories here!