Vacation = Fail

As a mom, which is worse: the moment you look in to the back seat of the car and notice that your child has fallen asleep with only ten minutes left of the ride, and therefore realizing that naptime is officially shot for the day; or opening your eyes first thing in the morning AFTER your kids have already waken up, and therefore realizing that you have officially overslept and your opportunity to take a shower has already come and gone? Welcome to my world. Today is technically day two of our summer vacation together (since we won't count the weekend), and I have already failed.

On day one, I thought it would be fun to meet up with our playgroup friends to pick strawberries. And it was fun! We got to ride in a rickety tractor back to the field as I held on to the baby for dear life and prayed that I only felt like I was about to fall off. (there's no way I actually could have fallen, right?) When we got back to the field, CJ actually helped me pick some while whining the whole time that he wanted to go back to feed the goats. (um, sidenote: I hate goats. And most other animals for that matter. I did not like his suggestion). Ty sat his fat self right in front of the plants and picked and feasted, picked and feasted. We then moved on to the raspberries. CJ and his friend chased each other up and down the mile long rows of bushes in the 8000 degree heat while Ty continued to pick and feast. After about an hour or so, we walked to the car: hot, sweaty, and well-fed. I carefully placed the pallet of delicate berries on the hood of the car as I strapped the boys into their seats. I then strapped myself in and drove away. The pallet of deliciousness and hard work slipped quietly off the hood and tipped onto the gravel parking lot. (And yes, if you are wondering, this hot mess got out of the car and picked them all up.) The afternoon wrapped up nicely with a three hour nap and only a few small stones in the boys' snack cups. Me=Fail, but strawberry picking= success!

Supermom (that is me) decided to make dessert for the family dinner that was being held that night at my parents' house. Thirteen people warranted two Frozen Lemonade pies (courtesy of the food network) and some Funfetti cupcakes (because who doesn't love some Funfetti?) To make a very long story short, the boys threw outstanding tantrums and were actually pretty horribly behaved for most of the otherwise pleasant evening. We ate a fantastically fancy dinner prepared by our family from out of town, and my pies were a complete disaster. They didn't freeze, and were a total mess. Sometime around the eight thousandth comment of "hmmm, Jeni, what happened?" and my kids' screaming for no apparent reason, I started crying. Yes, right there at the dinner table. Real tears. Me=Fail.

Day two began with a trip to the gym followed by another playdate at a different farm (yay! more goats!) The workout was great, the friends were great, and The Boy's knee injury was also great. One second he was going crazy with all of his little friends on a gigantic jumping pillow, and the next second he was laying there crying. Me, thinking he was just being overdramatic as usual, encouraged him to stop crying and try something else. When he tried to run over to his friend and almost collapsed, I knew it was time to leave. So that brings us to now: ten o'clock on the night of day two as a full time Stay-At-Home-Mom (a job that does not come easily to me, in case you haven't noticed. But I'm determined to change that.) I'm still in my gym clothes, but The Boy has stopped limping. Here's hoping that tomorrow brings more sunshine and smiles and less tears and tantrums. Oh yeah, and maybe a shower too. It's happy hour and I gotta go. Cheers!