Tuesday
Jun232009
Tow For Toe
Tuesday, June 23, 2009 at 06:47PM
Perhaps this is why I feel as though I "Don't Have Time For This."
A week ago, Kate fractured her toe. It's on the mend, but caution is key to her not spontaneously folding up like a collapsible stroller and writhing in misery as we all stare on, helpless and sympathetic.
Yesterday, day camp started.
I thought, "It's a beautiful day. My dog needs to practice her fabulous leash training. The camp is but a mere jaunt across Burbank Boulevard from home."
What I forgot?
But my need for fresh air pushed all other nay-saying thoughts out, and I trudged forth bravely. Olive and I waited patiently as the kids wolfed down chicken nuggets then I collected them, wrangled backpacks and crafts, and off we went. Jack lagged exactly 32 paces behind us. Olive the dog was behaving admirably, and Kate decided she wanted a try at the leash. "Great!" I thought. "Kate can work with dog so I can drag that tired little boy along the street."
We were within three blocks of the house when Olive spotted the world's tiniest Chihuahua, who, to his own detriment, barked his whereabouts with apparently no survival skills whatsoever. Olive's not a fighter at heart, but she is, just like the mint, "curiously strong," and threw off her training to take a closer look. In her path was Kate's toe.
As I struggled to haul the dead weight that had become Jack up my street, I looked over to find Olive about to enter an apartment building and Kate rolling around in the grass, howling in pain.
Then Jack peed his pants.
In a surprisingly deft swoop, I hefted both backpacks filled with crafts, grabbed the leash and slung my 75-pound child on my back – and warned Jack that if he got pee on his shoes, then that would be the last pair I would be buying him till he was 14. It was an impressive move, and we made it to the edge of my block, where I deposited Kate and ran the dog, crafts and wet 4-year-old to the yard, table and bathtub, respectively.
Then ... I made everyone smoothies. Really.
A week ago, Kate fractured her toe. It's on the mend, but caution is key to her not spontaneously folding up like a collapsible stroller and writhing in misery as we all stare on, helpless and sympathetic.
Yesterday, day camp started.
I thought, "It's a beautiful day. My dog needs to practice her fabulous leash training. The camp is but a mere jaunt across Burbank Boulevard from home."
What I forgot?
- Jack was in a pool for close to three hours.
- Kate has a fractured toe.
- Day camp = backpacks packed with crafts.
- Dog is still leash training.
But my need for fresh air pushed all other nay-saying thoughts out, and I trudged forth bravely. Olive and I waited patiently as the kids wolfed down chicken nuggets then I collected them, wrangled backpacks and crafts, and off we went. Jack lagged exactly 32 paces behind us. Olive the dog was behaving admirably, and Kate decided she wanted a try at the leash. "Great!" I thought. "Kate can work with dog so I can drag that tired little boy along the street."
We were within three blocks of the house when Olive spotted the world's tiniest Chihuahua, who, to his own detriment, barked his whereabouts with apparently no survival skills whatsoever. Olive's not a fighter at heart, but she is, just like the mint, "curiously strong," and threw off her training to take a closer look. In her path was Kate's toe.
As I struggled to haul the dead weight that had become Jack up my street, I looked over to find Olive about to enter an apartment building and Kate rolling around in the grass, howling in pain.
Then Jack peed his pants.
In a surprisingly deft swoop, I hefted both backpacks filled with crafts, grabbed the leash and slung my 75-pound child on my back – and warned Jack that if he got pee on his shoes, then that would be the last pair I would be buying him till he was 14. It was an impressive move, and we made it to the edge of my block, where I deposited Kate and ran the dog, crafts and wet 4-year-old to the yard, table and bathtub, respectively.
Then ... I made everyone smoothies. Really.
Reader Comments (1)
That is poignant!
Poor little creatures. Hope they don't read this till they are 14 when the new shoes arrive.
Aunt Sandy