Just Another Lazy Saturday . . .

Have I mentioned that Husband has been in D.C. since Tuesday? And it’s just been me at home with the boys, holding down the fort? Yeah, I’ve come to a realization—I suck as a single parent. I’m exhausted, my house is in disarray, my throat is sore from yelling, and I only worked a handful of hours. Ugh, not my proudest week.

Today, however, had to take the cake. We woke up to light rain and 40-degree cooler temperatures than yesterday. After checking the little league Web site every two minutes to see if they’d canceled baseball team pictures (which were rescheduled from the previous Saturday), I managed to get the boys up, dressed, and out the door at 8:00. . .

. . . Just to arrive at the ball field and find out that pictures were canceled but the games were still on. So Boy #1 was on the field at 8:15 warming up for his 9:00 game while I took Boys #2 and #3 to McDonald’s for breakfast. (Being the model parent I am, I bribed Boy #2, who was refusing to get up and dressed, that I’d take him to McDonald’s if he followed my directions. Wow. I’m pretty sure I’m going to score a book deal on parenting after this post.)

Here’s what went down after returning to the ball field:

  • The little league officials let the opposing team start a half hour late because “they thought the game started at 9:30 instead of 9:00,” even though all of the published schedules have the game starting at 9. This meant that Boy #1 and his teammates warmed up from 8:15 to 9:30 before even starting the game. In the cold rain. OH, and it also meant that we’d have to be there until 11:00 instead of 10:30. EXCELLENT.
  • I thought it would be better for Boys #2 and #3 to watch the game from the car instead of going out in the inclement weather. Perhaps I should’ve, instead, thought about what would be better for me.
  • As Murphy’s Law would have it, I had just cleaned out the car for the first time, like—ever—the night before, so all of the random books, toys, and dirty socks that would normally be available to provide entertainment were no longer in the car. So I gave the boys my iPhone, which they managed to fight over until the battery died.
  • I had to deliver treat tickets to the players, and for some crazy reason thought I could trust my boys in the car while I ran down to the dugout. After all, it wasn’t too hot or too cold for them, I could lock the doors and take the keys, and I could see the car from the dugout. What could go wrong? My question was soon answered with a “Honk Honk Honk! Honk Honk Honk! . . . ” Yes, it was the car alarm. Going off right behind center field. The best part? Not only would it not shut off when I was running to the car, frantically pushing the alarm button on my key fob, but I could not figure out how to get it to shut off when I actually made it into the car. With an entire baseball complex full of people watching me. Finally, someone noticed that the back door was ajar, and closing the door managed to quiet the beast. (At least temporarily.)
  • I then spent the next hour and a half trapped in the car with a stir crazy 7-year-old and a silly 4-year-old who’s been bound and determined the entire week to follow the opposite of every direction I give. As I tried to watch Boy #1 pitch and bat, the other two boys were climbing into the front seat, standing on their heads, throwing their shoes, drawing Pokemon characters in the fogged-up windows, “accidentally” putting up their middle fingers, and fighting over the mirror. By the time the game finally ended (with us losing by one run in the last inning), my nerves were as frayed as the boys’ shoelaces.
  • Surely, I thought, I can trust the boys now while I run down and tell Boy #1 where we’re parked. Oh, how I overunderestimate my boys. This time, when I heard the honking and saw the lights flashing, I was even further away at the concession stand. This time, my run of shame was even longer. And yes, this time, I still couldn’t get the alarm to shut off without a couple minutes of frantic fumbling.
  • As I said, “Let’s get out of here!” and put it into reverse, hey, why not? One more alarm, for old time’s sake! Honestly, if I knew how to peel out, I would’ve left some rubber right there in the Prairie Ridge Complex parking lot.
  • Now so frazzled there was no way I could think about what to make for lunch, I went through the McDonald’s drive-thru for the second time. Nothing like seeing the same employee at the drive-thru window twice in three hours to make you feel like a huuuuuge loser!
  • After getting home and wolfing down our incredibly nutritious meal, we had just enough time to get Boy #2 changed into his baseball uniform and head out the door again. This time, his field was too far away from the parking lot to see, so we got to actually sit in the rain and watch. Which. was. fabulous. Especially since Boys #1 and #3 bickered back and forth through the entire game. Is there anything worse than an 11-year-old arguing with a 4-year-old? It may very well be the best-kept secret method of torture in the modern world.

Fortunately, I have the best in-laws ever. They offered to take the boys overnight (since in the morning I’m supposed to get craft ready for Sunday School and work for two hours at the concession stand at the soccer field), and I quickly accepted before they could change their mind! And after they left, I flopped into the chair (wet butt and all) and just stared into space for a few hours minutes. OH, that is, after I retrieved my dog who—OF COURSE—decided this would be a good time to bolt out the door at full speed and roam the neighborhood. In the rain.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my boys deeply, flaws and all. But I am definitely not wired to parent on my own. I’ll breathe a big sigh of relief when Husband touches back down in Iowa tomorrow afternoon! Tag, honey, you’re it!


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