Once we got to the farm, we got parked as far as humanly possible from the orchard by a teenager with residual E tics. As we walked over to my family, I hear my aunt yell "SHHH!" to my grandmother. She was no doubt commenting on my blue hair. She says "mothers don't dye their hair like that". Hmm... wonder whose kids I have running around my house then...
I was already dreading taking my two tiny kids out to a packed outdoor event because of the amount of supervision that was going to be required. You would think that having myself and my husband there would mean 2 parents for 2 children, but no. You see, men have an interesting sense of responsibility. I believe the mantra goes something like this, "if there's someone else there that can do my job, I won't have to do it." So not only am i chasing around a toddler with a 3 month old strapped to my chest, I'm also directing my husband on simple things like "don't pull on the harness like it's a leash!" and "don't let A run into the parking lot!" Did I mention I was also carrying around a giant costs-more-than-my-car dSLR camera with a 4 inch telephoto lens, praying to God my children (or anyone elses) didn't bump into it? Oh yes, there were 4 balls being juggled here today. Four very very expensive, irreplaceable balls.
After a very short time there, E got hungry. I tried to feed her discreetly at first, but she just decided to play. I gave up and walked over to my family in the sugar pumpkin patch where she decided she was now starving. As she screamed I debated going back to my discreet spot from before, but then thought of how much it sucks to "have" to leave my family just to feed my child without being stared at and decided "screw it", I'm going to feed my daughter wherever I damn well please. So I whipped out the booby and fed her while walking around the pumpkin patch and talking to my family. Oh the stares I got. Ha!
After we walked back over to the wooden stick-your-face-in-the-cutout-hole picture taking area, Aiden began to get antsy and want to run all over the place, driving me nuts. My aunt sensed my frustration and took my son over to play in the miniature haystack maze, while my husband wandered aimlessly, taking photos of things he thought were interesting. Fast forward a few moments and I hear my son shrieking. I look over to where my husband is, 5 feet away from my screaming child, back turned as he takes photos of Lord knows what. He turns around, looks at A, turns back and snaps a few more photos. At this point I walk over to A and see why he is crying; half of his fingernail ripped off as he got it pinched between two pieces of hinged wood. He sees me and attempts to climb up me, even if it means climbing on top of E hanging out peacefully in her sling. I pick him up and prop him on my hip so he doesn't squish little E and he screams and cries and wipes all manners of face liquids onto my shirt. And my husband STILL hasn't turned around. Happily oblivious, he looks around for more things to take pictures of, all the while screams erupting from his spawn only 5 feet away. Finally I nudge him and he glances over at me like "what?". I have 2 children on my tiny little 120lb self, and he asks me what.
This is why men aren't built for motherhood.
At least they slept in the car ride home, and remained relatively normal children instead of the overstimulated crabapples I was expecting them to be.
What a day!
Now, as always, the most automated appliance in a household is the mother. ~Beverly Jones