My expectations for the day were negatively low when I woke up this morning. Monday. Cancelled preschool. Raging headache. No car (Mark had to take mine to work when he couldn't get his truck out of the ice at 5:30am). And I was nervous about taking the kids out in the baby jogger on the icy neighborhood roads by myself, so I figured, no run. The day was starting out in survival mode.
When I couldn't bare the idea of Heath watching Thomas the Train Splish! Splash! Splosh! one more time, and he seemed mostly interested in taking everything Stella managed to get her hands on, and sitting on her, and taunting her by taking her beloved blanket, I decided to brave the treacherous roads and jog my 3.6 and end up at the park. A definite mental health run.
As soon as I had the kiddies cozy in the stroller, layered, snacked and blanketed, Heath decided it was a good time to take Stella's stuffed pig. If this wasn't enough to get her screaming, he also thought it was appropriate to give her little hand an overzealous squeeze. Wanting to remain consistent in our latest attempt at 1-2-3 Magic plan, I had to do the inconvenient thing and take him out of the stroller and take him to his room for a time out. While he's screaming, I'm settled down, Stella starts screaming, Bubba, Bubba. Despite the fact that he tortures her all day long, she has started to express a deep dissatisfaction when she is separated from him.
At this point, I notice that I have a nearly flat tire, so I get our cheap pump out of the closet and attempt to hurriedly get the air in. In my haste, I manage to dislodge the pump from the metal shaft and slam my pointer and middle finger into the incredibly sharp, metal edge. Now I've got two screaming children, a flat tire, blood dripping everywhere, and a distinct feeling that I may pass out.
After a few minutes of closing my eyes and letting the kitchen sink water run over my finger wounds, I pump up the tire, slowly, then search for Band-Aids. Thankfully both children have managed to calm themselves down. Before I can even open Heath's door all the way, he says, Mama, you got Spider-Man Band-Aids?
Yes, I hurt my fingers.
Let me see them, he says, reaching out for my hand. Over time I have learned to not do this. He wants to see the boo-boos, but he also likes to press his fingers INTO the boo-boos to see what happens. So I just sort of wave my hand in front of him to see the Band-Aids and move us along.
I load him back in the baby jogger, and 45 minutes after I started getting us ready, we headed out.
The majority of the roads were completely clear, but there were a few tricky areas left, mostly all going downhill. So I had to sideways, carefully, slowly, tiptoe across the ice and search for dry patches, all while I held onto the great weight of the stroller with a white-knuckled death grip that killed my ripped up, Spider-Man bandaged fingers.
But definitely worth the trip. My mood was changed. Headache was gone. And the park play was fun. When we got home for lunch, they were both cold, hungry and ready to play with each other, or at least side-by-side, with minimal interference. I even managed to tackle a project I've been needing to get to for weeks, but kept avoiding. Mopping the floor. Lovely.
And to make it all that much better, Heath took a two and a half hour nap this afternoon. And Stella, nearly three hours. Ahhhh...
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