Walking the Block

Our outside weather days are quickly coming to the end, so today we went on not just one, but two, walks around the neighborhood. The girls love to be outdoors, and I still have some pesky baby weight to lose, so it seemed like a good idea. The first one was after lunch, and with Annie pushing her own baby dolls in a stroller, it took just over an hour. Then, after Greg headed into work this evening (stupid night shifts), we got all packed up and went for our second walk. Annie takes longer than any other child on the face of the planet possibly could. She pointed out each tree, plant, bird, plane, flower and car to her baby dolls. She often ran the stroller onto the grass or into bushes (on purpose) and took several minutes to 'dislodge' stroller & crew. Several neighbors smiled and laughed as they sat on their front porches, watching as we took several minutes to pass their home. So much for any kind of exercise . . . I'm pretty sure the pace was barely enough to keep my muscles from atrophying. But, we were having fun, and Annie was outdoors and getting some exercise after a rare day where I could barely talk her into anything more active than a heated game of Candy Land.

After awhile (quite awhile), we were at that part of our walking route that is like the 'point of no return'. Basically, we're no closer to home going back the way we came than if we keep going on our original route. This is of course where Annie chooses to lose it, and insist on being carried. I have her on my hip, Ellie in a front carrier, and I'm carrying her stroller, baby doll carrier, and two baby dolls in my other hand. After a little bit, I realize this isn't working for us, so I throw Annie up onto my shoulders (narrowly missing Ellie's face with Annie's shoes), clutch both her feet in one hand and carry the stroller and stuff in my other hand. After about five houses of this, I look down in the stroller and realize, "I don't see Moo Moo. Do you have Moo Moo up there Annie?" Nope, of course not. Turning around, I see a far away little white and blue pile of plush. Crap. We hoof it all the way back, then of course to be able to pick up the doll, I have to put Annie back down on ground. Pick up Moo Moo. Get Annie back up onto my shoulders. Pick up the stroller and stuff. And get going again. Past those same five houses. I looked like a pack mule.

I can't remember what Annie asked me to change about our arrangement, but I refused telling her, "Annie, this is already hard enough." To which she responded, "No it isn't Mommy. This is easy!"

The last four houses of our walk (which seemed like the longest stretch of road I've EVER seen), she decided to walk. Dragging her Utes sweatshirt behind her on the sidewalk. My "Annie, don't drag your jacket on the ground," was met by the high pitched whining of, "But I weally, weally want to dwag my wetshirt on the gwound!" What is it about whining that causes every word to have a whaaa sound in it? "Well, you can't. Pick it up or I'll carry it for you." She defiantly clutches it to her chest and sobs. Those sobs start to subside as we walk up our driveway. Annie takes the first of our front steps, only to biff it and land on her butt. Which causes her to LOSE it. Uncontrollable sobbing, as I'm trying to get her inside, but not being able to really pick her up and cuddle her, since Ellie's still strapped to my chest. I get the two of them inside, kick off my shoes and think to myself, "I am NEVER going outside again." I got Ellie out of the front carrier and gave her a kiss as I laid her down on my bed, to which Annie responds in a whine, "Non't kiss her! I the one who is cry!" (I've noticed Annie's grammar deteriorates rapidly as she gets more and more tired and grumpy.) As I take off the front carrier I realize I now have a huge red hickey looking thing on my neck where it was rubbing against my neck funny (probably when their was a thirty pound toddler sitting on it). It's dark outside now and it's been just over two hours since we originally left our house. To walk around the block. I probably didn't even burn half the calories I'll consume in ice cream tonight in trying to de-stress from the experience.

A still whimpering Annie says, "I want to watch Dora." That's cool with me, since I'm parenting solo tonight and I have Ellie to get ready for bed. Annie's laying on my bed, barely able to keep her eyes open, when Dora cries out, "Let's all march! Everyone stand up and march!" My nearly sleeping two year old throws off the covers and starts happily marching on my bed. Dora and I are gonna have words later. After Dora, Annie wants to read "Go, Dog, Go." A favorite of ours. But, of course, I'm not allowed to help at all, and she reads the entire thing to me (about 80% is word for word, some pages she improvises a bit, but don't even think about correcting her, that really pisses her off.) I realize, a little sadly, that my little bookworm isn't really much of a bookworm anymore. Most nights we can barely interest her in story time, and she insists on doing all the reading herself. I'm gonna have to try something new, maybe start trying to read more to her in the day, maybe during our new 'non-nap' time when she tends to be a little mellower (maybe, like in a fairy tale, she'll actually even fall asleep as I read to her. I've seen it on TV. It looks heartwarming. And quiet.) How do you guys with kids incorporate books? I was so convinced Annie would be all about the books, since we'd never get away with reading less than 20 a day up until she was about 2 years old, when she practically lost all interest in them.

Well, both girls are sleeping right now. Greg made some fantastic from-scratch caramel sauce earlier, so I'm gonna go dish me up some of that de-stress ice cream I was talking about. Good night!