Monday, October 15, 2018

Weekend Recap


Well, well, we actually got our family photos in without having to reschedule this year!  I think the past two years, it’s rained on our picture day and we had to squeeze them in another day.  I can’t say it wasn’t without drama.  I’m always stressed on picture day and I don’t even know why, but I think my stress carries over to everyone else.  This year, I scheduled haircuts and then thought we could grab lunch afterwards.  Both boys were in a bad mood.  S was crying randomly about every little thing.  I think both boys were just hungry and a bit tired because they both like to wake at some crazy early time (ahem 5:30am) on weekends.  So haircuts were ok.  S cried at lunch because we wouldn’t give him the entire cup of ranch dressing, but after getting food in their bellies, all was well (or at least better).  I even asked A to make a stop after lunch so I could grab a pumpkin milkshake.  You know, after I had just eaten French Onion soup and cheese curds… because I was obviously all about eating healthy.  So I ordered my small milkshake and was given this giant thing with whipped cream and rolled cookie toppings and it was amazing.  But not at all what I was expecting for a small milkshake. 



We decided to drive through the forest preserve where we were going to take photos and look for scenic spots.  It was a beautiful day and we all enjoyed the little drive.  On our way home, S asked for a tissue.  Sure, no problem.  As I turned to hand it to him, I realized he was covered in blood.  He had a bloody nose and it was just gushing.  I know that’s gross, but I feel the need to describe the horror scene that was my back seat.  Apologies to the squeamish.  Thankfully, I knew better than to dress the boys in their photo attire too early.  So I told S he needed to hold the tissue on his nose and I got a “Noooo!’.  I told him again that he was getting blood everywhere – clothes, car seat, his face, etc.  And he told me no.  So then I yelled at him like a crazy person.  I’m not proud, but it did get his attention.  And then he asked if we were taking him to the hospital.  Sigh.  Straight to the bathtub he went as soon as we got home.  Seriously, never a dull moment on picture day.  On the bright side, pictures went well, despite the wind blowing my hair all over my face and the rest of the evening was without incident.  Here’s a little preview (these are just screen shots so not the best quality)…





Sunday morning was our usual routine.  We had plans to try to watch some of the Bears game and work on W’s Halloween costume.  I’m not even sure how to describe the afternoon except to say I was questioning my mothering abilities.  S asked the same questions over and over – could he go to the park that we’d have to drive to, could he watch videos, could we take him to any place he could possibly come up with, could I build a race track, etc. etc.  And normally, I don’t mind doing some of these things, but we really needed to work on W’s costume.  And each time, S heard no, he’d have a fit.  And W wasn’t much better.   He’d poured himself juice and spilled it everywhere, got window crayon all over the windows, himself, the floor, his clothes, chased his brother and they tripped over the cord to the hot glue gun sending that flying, dumped out lego bins, made messes in every room of the house, climbed onto the roof of his play house.  It was just one thing after another.  I hardly watched any of the game (yes, parenting comes first, but I had hoped for just a little reprieve) and the costume took forever because we had to keep stopping (and it still isn’t done).  Finally, around 3:45, A took the boys to the park across the street and I worked on dinner.  Quiet is so soothing for me and it was just what I needed.  After some homemade mac and cheese, barbecue chicken and ranch quesadillas, and apple slices, we were all in a much better mood.  I played hide and seek with the boys, we worked on puzzles together, and we read books – it was just what I needed and a great way to end a hectic day.

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