A Hectic Morning

It started off well.

The three of us (G, M and I) had a happy morning, we got dressed and I decided that today would be a great day to go to the playground. I told the girls we were going to a playground and while they played, I gathered up their bathing suits and a towel to bring with us, in case they wanted to go to the spray pad as well. It crossed my mind that maybe I should bring a little snack, but I thought "No, we'll just come home if we get hungry."

By the time we got to the park, it was turning into a beautiful day, and G was very excited to see the spray park.
"Can we go in?" she begged.
"Well, actually, yes. I have your bathing suits."
She cheered and we made our way to the washrooms to get changed. The moment we stepped into the bathrooms, G started whining about the smell. It wasn't your standard "This is a stinky bathroom" smell, it was the overly-chemical smell of "we don't want this to be a stinky bathroom". G has a super-sensitive nose lately, so I asked if she'd rather get changed at one of the picnic tables in the park. She quickly agreed. It's nice that my kids are young enough to have no modesty whatsoever.

Once they were both in swimwear, I sent them to the spray pad. G's general approach with spray pads is to run to the water, barely touch it, then run out screaming. For M, this was her first encounter. Unlike G, who tends to be timid about new things, M has no qualms about just going for it.  She ran in, full speed and giggled like mad.

G took M's hand, like the dutiful big sister and tried to lead her around, but in reality, it was M who was doing the leading. Every time G tried to bring her out of the water, M pulled her back in.
Soon enough, G was running to me, shivering. The sun had gone behind a cloud and she'd had enough. I wrapped her in the towel and she demanded to get dressed. Her spray park time had lasted 3 glorious minutes.
M, on the other hand, would not come out. She stood in the water, shivering, but enjoying her self. Her little lips started to go blue and still she wouldn't come out. I stood at the edge, fully clothed and not looking to get wet calling her name. 
Finally, out she came and I dried her off and got her dressed, which was much like dressing a greasy eel. A greasy eel who is crying because you took her out of the water. All the while, G is at my side saying
"Come ooooooon!! Let's go to the plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayground!!"

Finally, the two of them ran off to the playground as I hear my cell phone make its non-annoying-but-still-audible notification noise. I check it.

Oh. Crap.

G has a gymnastics class in twenty minutes. Across town.

I yelled to her. She is excited for gymnastics and came right away. M is in the middle of a tunnel, so I wrestled her out and onto my back in the Ergo. We ran to the car and got in.

Now, St. John's is not a big city. It doesn't take all that long to get from one end to the other. However, where I was (Rotary Park) and where G's gymnastics class was (Torbay) are about as far from each other as you can get and still be in the city.

We hit every single red light on the way there.

As we pulled into the parking lot, it hit me. The class started at 11:45 (it was now 11:50), it ended at 12:45 and we had not eaten since breakfast. Why did I not pack that snack? I had no food on me, not even my emergency car food (note to self: replace emergency car food). I turned to G and gave her a choice "Do you want to go somewhere and eat, or do you want to do gymnastics first?" She chose gymnastics, so in we went. My stomach growled while I watched her, M was a bit cranky, but somehow we managed to make it.

On Having Girls

My two older sisters and some of my friends have only boy children, and I imagine that if I had only boys, I might be jealous one of the things you get to do with girls - brushing their long hair and putting it up in braids, ponytails and other styles.
I too had this dream. When I had G I thought that I'd soon learn how to french braid and had visions of cute little pigtails.
There is a lovely vision I had and maybe moms of boys have it - sitting in the sunlight, calmly brushing your daughters hair, laughing together as you braid it, her bouncing away looking adorable.

The reality (for me at least) is this: G wakes up in the morning with a rat's nest on her head. She dips the ends of it in her cereal bowl because she cannot handle tucking it behind her ears. After she gets dressed, I attempt to brush it. The moment she sees the hairbrush she says "OW!". I haven't touched her. I beg her to come sit on my lap. She runs to the other side of the apartment. I finally wrestle her into my lap and run my fingers along her neck to move her hair. "YOU'RE HURTING ME!!" she screams.
The rat nest (always in the exact same location on her head) is the first plan of attack and I attempt to hold her on my lap with one hand, brush with the other and use my third and fourth hands to hold the hair while I brush it.
She wiggles free.
"Stop it Mommy! I don't want my hair brushed!"
"Look at these fancy barrettes (bobbles, headband, etc.)? Don't you want them in your hair?"
"NOOOOOOoooooooOOOOOoooooOOOOO!!!!"
"When the wind blows  your hair in your face, you'll be sad, G."
"I don't care about the wind!"
At this point she runs away. I have three options. I can either put the messiest ponytail ever in her hair (and suffer the consequences when it's time for it to come out), I can leave it and suffer the consequences when we go outside and the wind blows her hair in her face and she can't see, or I can turn on the TV and usually she'll hold still long enough to get a nice enough hairstyle in (never a braid, never, ever a braid).
Or, I suppose, there is a fourth option. I could shave her head. Some days I want to do exactly that.

A footnote to this all is that M finally has long enough hair that I can put it in pigtails, but she has learned from her sister that the proper word to use while Mommy is doing your hair is "Ow!" She says it now with a smile on her face, but give her time.

Secondary footnote: My mom is reading this and laughing at me. Probably laughing quite hard. I was exactly like this as a kid. In fact, to be honest, I still don't love people touching my head. I completely deserve to be treated like this.

Wordless Wednesday