So, last week I was basking in the first days of summer glow. It was nice outside, nice to sleep in, nice not to have a schedule. I bragged about it. Of course.
And then on Friday, I took all the kids to Fred Meyer in the afternoon to look at bikes for Porter and pick up a few groceries. No biggie. I had been promising this event to Porter for months, and he was super excited. We picked out a bike, got some food, and made it through the check out. Then Cedar decided to climb up on the truck ride (thank you so much for this Fred Meyer), which I did not have 50 cents for. She clung to it for dear life, and after five minutes of pleading and bribing, I had to pry her off, finger by finger. Which then meant I had to carry her, kicking and screaming, like a sack of potatoes, under one arm. I pushed the cart with my other hand, and Porter wheeled the bike. We got out of the door, and Molly had some unknowable crisis, the only solution to which was sitting on the ground and refusing to move while wailing loudly. Cars were coming, it was pouring rain, and I had no free hand to deal with this situation. Strangers smiled in pity.
And just like that, the honeymoon was over.
Also, Monday morning: summer camp. I am the very last parent to drop their kid off. At least he was wearing the green t-shirt. August 20, here we come.