To celebrate, a haiku:
a four-day weekend
might almost be enough to
give me strength to live.
Last night we attempted to take Drew to a baseball game. The Greenville Drive was playing a home game, and my boss graciously gave us all tickets. Wow. A free outing!
Well, except for having to pay $10 to park. So, OK. A $10 outing.
Oh, but the game didn't start until 7 p.m., and Drew needed to eat before then, so we had to stop at Zaxby's to get him some chicken fingers. And of course, Drew can't eat chicken fingers alone. I'm sure that would have made him feel terrible and, you know, all self-conscious. So, OK. $10 for parking and $10 for food. Now we have a $20 outing.
I won't mention the side trip to Old Navy, in which I purchased myself a new pair of shorts that I didn't realize were of the "ultra-low waist" variety until I got home. (yes, i bought them without trying them on in the store and i therefore deserve whatever calamity may befall me)
We arrived at the stadium, excited to show Drew his first glimpse of a real, live baseball game. At which point Drew went into full-blown toddler tantrum mode.
Fine, except that I'm surrounded by co-workers (and supervisors) who are holding their own perfectly mannered and perfectly groomed children and watching my sweaty son scream and squirm and do that thing where I try to hold his hand and he twists out of my grasp and hurls himself to the ground, screaming, "NO! NO! NO MAMA NO!'
"Drew," I hiss, desperately. "You. Must. Hold. My. Hand."
"NOOOOOOO!" (twist. squirm. fall.)
Sheepish grin at my co-workers, most of whom are smiling in sympathy but a few of whom are shooting me annoyed looks (the childless ones...they'll learn...oh yes...and I'll laugh and laugh), and my frantic and totally lame explanation of "Oh, he's just a little tired! Poor guy!"
"MAMA! NOOOOOOOOOOO!", as I'm grabbing for his sweat-damp hand and trying to smile and also trying to make sure his struggles don't pull my tank top down so far that I accidentally flash my co-workers.
We stayed at the game for 15 minutes. Yup. We got to see the national anthem being sung, and the first two pitches, and then we were out of there.
$48.50 for 15 minutes of a ballgame, some fattening chicken that made me sick later and a pair of shorts that I can't decently wear in public.
At least I have a four-day weekend in which to erase it all from my memory.
oh no! I hate, hate, hate tantrums.. I'd like to tell you that they get better, but.. uh. They don't. MC started her 'terrible twos' around 18 months and being a 'threenager' is actually MORE horrible! All I can say is enjoy the little ones now!!
Posted by: ebeth | Friday, June 30, 2006 at 01:03 PM