It's Not a Job, It's an Adventure

Today I took the boys out to McDonald's so they could play.  Malachi asks me every day, "Can we go somewhere?"  It was chilly today, and we didn't go anywhere yesterday or the day before, so it seemed like a good idea.  We left at one o'clock, which is kind of late, but that's just how it worked out. 

Things went pretty smooth for the most part, and we all had a good time, except maybe Simeon who is more of a homebody anyway, and was also a bit grumpy from getting his one year immunizations yesterday.  Even so, he was pretty happy since I was feeding him a fruit and yogurt parfait ("Everybody likes parfaits"). 

Then (this is where the suspenseful music should come in) Izzy had a poo. 

That was the point where things slowly began to go downhill.

I soon discovered that I had only two wipes left.  If you are parent, you will recognize that the fact that two wipes wasn't enough signifies it was a really bad poo.  Plus he had a rash.  I won't go into detail.  I did the best I could with the two wipes and toilet paper, all the while fighting him because he wouldn't hold still.  I then decided to just put a diaper on him, take him home and put him in the bathtub. 

Thus commenced the process of getting them home: finding their shoes, getting them down out of the play tubes, putting shoes on, putting jackets on, getting my stuff, getting Simeon, trying to keep them from leaving before I do and going outside without me.  Izzy, of course, had to go out ahead of me.  Then, of course, he had to run out into the McDonald's driveway where a car was coming, but fortunately was slow enough that he was okay.  

Let me just say that it is very difficult to chase down a toddler while holding a purse, a diaper bag and a one year old.  The purse and the diaper bag you can put down, but the one year old, not so much. 

Somehow, we all got across the driveway to the van.  I put Simeon and all my paraphenalia away, got Malachi, and chased down Izzy.  I had to physically grab him and carry him to the van since he would not come when I called.  He got a pinch for running away, and once he was in the van, I gave him a stern talking to about what he had done and the fact that he could have been hit by a car.  I was very angry, he was wailing rather loudly, a drink got knocked over on the floor;  it was chaos.  It sure felt like that to me, anyway. 

Somehow, we did manage to make it home, and I got everyone in the house without too much trouble.  I put Izzy in the bath, I got Simeon ready for a nap and put him to bed.  Right when I  went back to check on Izzy, he was dumping water out of a fireman hat onto the floor.  Lovely.  I said he was done.  He said he wasn't done.  I got him out anyway, wrapped him in a towel, and laid him on the dresser for his diaper and clothes. 

I left the room to get something, and when I returned he was standing up.  He then proceeded to jump off the dresser (it's a low one) because he loves to jump.  Usually when he jumps he's fine, but of course this time, he landed all weird.  I heard a crack, and then crying.  I picked him up and held him and tried to assess the damage.  I think he hit his nose, but I didn't think it was broken.  He wouldn't tell me if anything else was hurt.  I tried to give him some medicine, but he wouldn't take it until I found some chewable tablets of children's tylenol.  I got him diapered and dressed and ready for his, by that time, very late nap. 

I was so mad at him for fighting me on every little thing that I honestly had a hard time even feeling sorry for him.  I mean, I felt bad that he was hurt, but I also felt like, "that's what you get when you refuse to listen to your mother".