My children have reached the climbing and crying phase.
This shouldn’t be possible since they are different ages. I can only assume it’s because they are conspiring against my husband and I.
I picture my daughter whispering in Huck’s ear, “Okay, I am going to whine needlessly and erupt into sobs when they try to dress me and claw at mom’s legs while she’s cooking. You cry for no reason while simultaneously climbing Daddy on the couch.”
We’ve been “tightening up” after paying taxes and this Saturday we decided to splurge and go to Cody’s Roadhouse for lunch.
Does smashing open peanuts distract them? Momentarily.
Crayons they can color on a paper tablecloth with? Until they break them. (Okay, I broke one too)
What about food? Not even the food can keep them from whining and crying and climbing.
Huck is literally using my husband like a Jungle Gym, only pausing periodically to peer creepily at the people at the next booth.
I was able to down half of an enormous Rum Runner and eat a piece of meat before pleading with my eyes for the waiter to bring a To-Go box.
Praise Jesus, my miserable son falls asleep in the car.
God Dangit, my daughter started refusing to nap years ago.
So, I decide to take her on a bike ride to drop off a prescription at Walgreens. At one point I stopped the bike to adjust my backpack and couldn’t keep my balance. We tipped over, but to keep my daughter from hitting the ground I threw myself down and used my thigh to hold the bike in a semi-upright position.
While the bruises are hideous, nothing was more humiliating than the driver passing by asking if I needed help.
I could write about all the cute stuff my kids did over the weekend.
Like racing each other to throw themselves head first on the sofa. Alma starts it by shouting, “ANJAHMAR, get set, GO!”
Or when Huxley woke up the other morning with his PJ shorts tucked into his diaper so he looked like Woody in a blue speedo.
Or how when I put Alma’s Jessie doll in the baby swing with him at the playground he immediately started “talking” to her to see if she was having a good time.
But, isn’t it so much more entertaining to picture me biting it on a bike while some teenager in a hot rod giggles and asks if I’m okay?