Normally I love Tuesdays. Normally. Under a normal set of circumstances. But today was just one of those days....I thought it was going to be great. I woke up early and was ready before anyone else was even out of bed. I was excited because it was the last day of MOPS before summer break. Our morning went as usual, we got to the church and a great time was had by all, as usual. Home for lunch and then naps. This is where things took a turn for the worse.
Grace is new to the world of bed-sleeping. For the most part she has done really well, but the past couple of days have been challenging to say the least. Knowing that we needed to get to Target after naptime (let me back up and explain...at bedtime last night I bribed Grace with a new pair of sandals if she stayed in bed all night....yes, I've become "that" mom.), I really needed her to get her rest. But no, a mountain of animals on her bed, Grace nowhere to be found, and naptime was already haflway over. So, whatever. Off to Target with an incredibly grumpy and testy kid. Oh, and her cheerful little sister.
Here's what I don't understand about children's clothing and accessories. Why, when we spend so many years as adults wearing adult things, do designers and stores feel it's necessary to make toddler shoes that are trendier than the ones I wear? Wedge espadrilles for a three-year-old? No thank you. Gladiator sandals in pewter or bronze for a toddler? We'll pass. Where are the pink and purple mary janes? What happened to those cool little shoes that light up when they walk? Thongs with bling bigger than her toes? I don't think so.
So, we proceed to buy a few household items and even a few groceries. Target really knew what they were doing when they started selling food. As I was attempting to "teach" Emma not to suck on the cart seat strap, I looked over and saw Grace munching on an apple, and we are still nowhere near the checkout aisle, love this kid. I jokingly told her she was going to go to jail because we didn't pay yet, and all hell broke loose. She started yelling she didn't "wanna" go to jail (not even knowing what it is) and she was sorry she ate the "magic apple" (one too many Disney movies?!)...and people were staring. No, they weren't staring. They were glaring. Because I'm "that" mom.
Somehow we made it home in one piece. I made dinner and convinced Grace she would be oh-so happy if she ate outside at her picnic table. Alone. Ahhh....peace. Or so I thought. But she kept needing this and that, and my vision of sitting down at the kitchen table was quickly squashed by countless trips out the back door. When she asked for a third helping of noodles, I told Grace she needed to eat the chicken sausage on her plate first. When I peeked through the blinds to check on my sweet child, she was burying her sausage in the garden. Either she believes chicken sausage grows on trees or she's more clever than I thought. I'm pretty sure it's the latter and I have to give her credit for that. But really?!
After dinner, despite our repeated instructions not to do so, Grace was yet again talking about poop. When I gave her "the look" she began SINGING about poop. I told her to sit in time out, and she informed me singing is different than talking, so "it's ok Mama." Oh. My. Goodness.
Tomorrow afternoon I am having an allergy test done, and the girls will stay home with a sitter. Am I crazy to actually be anxious to go to my appointment?! Needles and itchy arms....crazy three year old who thinks she has the world figured out...I think preschool in the fall will do her some good. And me. It will definitely do me some good.
I did mention I love her, right?
