Decided to walk to pick up Arlo from school today.
Farrah hadn’t slept but 30 minutes all morning.
I can’t use the bike and Weehoo with aforementioned Farrah.
It was overcast. (was)
I ate chocolate for third breakfast.
I need Arlo to nap.
Something is wrong with the car.
Motivation? I got motivation coming outta my third breakfast-sized ass.
I’ve been thinking about adding this to our routine ever since Arlo started dropping his naps. It’s a considerable distance for a 3 1/2-year-old, it’s the hottest time of the day and he’s already had an engaging and active morning at school. Just typing that sentence makes me tired. Today seemed like a good day to experiment because we have dinner plans and his bedtime will be a blur. The child needs to sleep and this walk should knock him out.
Because Arlo never met a manhole cover, ant hill, lawnmower, tree branch or construction site he didn’t love, the walk home took about 45 minutes. No matter, Farrah slept for about 30 of that and I was certain he’d go down as soon as we got home.
He did not. No. He’s sitting right next to me as a matter of fact. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed after a brief attempt at “quiet time” in his bedroom. He’s now sitting next to me watching tv and asking IS THIS THE POTHOLE ONE? MOMMA? IS THIS THE POTHOLE ONE? OH! THIS IS THE POTHOLE ONE. THERE IS THE POTHOLE. WHY IS THAT A POTHOLE? MOMMA! MOMMA! WHY IS THAT A POTHOLE? I, on the other hand am damp, smelly, hungry, exhausted and feeling highly uncharitable toward the The Great Pothole Inquisition.
That’s a pothole because when little boys don’t rest, the road opens its mouth wider and wider and bigger and bigger until it swallows the entire world and all of the mommies too.
That’s why it’s a pothole. Now go to sleep.