I would actually love to type more words tonight, but I’m still recovering from my emotional trauma.
I took Thing 2 to the park this afternoon. We didn’t go to one of our usual parks; we went to a new-and-out-of-the-way park, because LET’S TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT.
And when I say new, I mean new-to-us. As in, we seldom go to this park, because it scores seven-and-a-half stars out of ten on my personal list of HOW DIRTY IS THIS PARK?
(Yes. I have my own list of clean parks and not-so-very-much-clean parks and this-park-needs-Clorox-in-the-worst-kind-of-way parks.)
(Don’t judge me. Every mother has a list like this committed to memory.)
(And if she doesn’t, she lives in New York City, on Park Avenue, and her nanny always takes the kids to the park.)
(In which case, that nanny has the Clean Park List committed to memory.)
While we were there this afternoon, Thing 2 found an abandoned Capri Sun juice packet somewhere. I think it was tucked in between a slide and the framework to the playground equipment. Of course, once Thing 2 found the juice packet… he did drink of it. In fact, our toddler took a nice, long pull of warmed-up, left-behind-by-who-knows-what-kid juice.
And I nearly fainted, because while I was running to Thing 2 and screeching like a hen showing the fox the door, Thing 2 was making sure he completely quenched his thirst before his juice treasure was stolen from him.
If you need me, I’ll be at the state mental institution, dressed in my house slippers and my fluffy bathrobe, sitting in a group counseling session, and trying to come to grips with ALL THE GERMS… ALL THE GERMS… ALL THE GERMS.