Is it me, or is Easter the most boring ass holiday ever? Okay, Okay, I know the whole religious story - and that is the one amazing part. But on a day to day level - Christ, it is dull.
4 days. 2 kids. minus 2 weather. What to do? Baking? Done that the past two weekend? Build a den? Likewise. Drawing - been there done that. I know! Let's get bikes and scooters and wrap up warm and go to a nearby/forest/park place where we can have a blustery walk and shake off the cobwebs - Yay!!
So we spend twenty minutes wrapping up and packing the car and all of that and arrive to a thick wall of mud. Sproglette refusing gloves while her hands turn blue. Insisting on scooting over -unscootable ground. Sproglet is on his bike, but is coming a cropper on all the potholes and ends up in a ditch. There is a point where I am standing in gale force winds while both my children are crying and I am thinking of ways to jet to Mexico - never to be seen again.
Husband hates this park. His attitude: 'a bunch of dead looking trees, some nature trails and mud. Is that it?' So we re-pack the car, wipe muddy hands and snotty teary faces and head to another park - one with actual swings and slides and all that.
Sproglette insists on scooting instead - takes off down a path at a speed Evel Knievel would be proud of. She wobbles, straightens, wobbles and then takes a huge stack. She sobs. I cuddle her as I look over at Sproglet - he is getting to grips with his new bike again - and failing in his quest. He sobs. I feel cold wet drops on my face - no, I am not sobbing too - it is snowing.
Snowing. At Easter.
Husband and I give up on these 'fun' outdoor activities and head home. Sproglette screams when her scooter is put in the car, Sproglet is in a huff because he 'didn't cycle well enough.' Husband and I discuss how next Easter we will drop the kids with Granny - and maybe never come back. We have had such a fun day. No really. FUN.
Home. Sproglette has gone for a sleep - but guess what? Still cries! Sproglet has taken to his room with a 'door not come in here' sign on the door. Husband and I know we have a list of chores to do and have sacked them off to eat chocolate.
Me? I am lying under the covers with the kids' eggs until this godforsaken holiday passes. Or Spring at least has sprung.
4 days. 2 kids. minus 2 weather. What to do? Baking? Done that the past two weekend? Build a den? Likewise. Drawing - been there done that. I know! Let's get bikes and scooters and wrap up warm and go to a nearby/forest/park place where we can have a blustery walk and shake off the cobwebs - Yay!!
So we spend twenty minutes wrapping up and packing the car and all of that and arrive to a thick wall of mud. Sproglette refusing gloves while her hands turn blue. Insisting on scooting over -unscootable ground. Sproglet is on his bike, but is coming a cropper on all the potholes and ends up in a ditch. There is a point where I am standing in gale force winds while both my children are crying and I am thinking of ways to jet to Mexico - never to be seen again.
Husband hates this park. His attitude: 'a bunch of dead looking trees, some nature trails and mud. Is that it?' So we re-pack the car, wipe muddy hands and snotty teary faces and head to another park - one with actual swings and slides and all that.
Sproglette insists on scooting instead - takes off down a path at a speed Evel Knievel would be proud of. She wobbles, straightens, wobbles and then takes a huge stack. She sobs. I cuddle her as I look over at Sproglet - he is getting to grips with his new bike again - and failing in his quest. He sobs. I feel cold wet drops on my face - no, I am not sobbing too - it is snowing.
Snowing. At Easter.
Husband and I give up on these 'fun' outdoor activities and head home. Sproglette screams when her scooter is put in the car, Sproglet is in a huff because he 'didn't cycle well enough.' Husband and I discuss how next Easter we will drop the kids with Granny - and maybe never come back. We have had such a fun day. No really. FUN.
Home. Sproglette has gone for a sleep - but guess what? Still cries! Sproglet has taken to his room with a 'door not come in here' sign on the door. Husband and I know we have a list of chores to do and have sacked them off to eat chocolate.
Me? I am lying under the covers with the kids' eggs until this godforsaken holiday passes. Or Spring at least has sprung.
2 comments:
Yeah, I kinda see your point. Come on Spring! WE NEED YOU!
SEE - Potholes are DANGEROUS.
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