Yesterday, a couple of friends and I decided to take our wee ones to the park— before getting their tongues stuck on a metal slide becomes a real possibility. There was another mom there with her school-aged son. As soon as we arrived, the older boy made a beeline for us. After a few minutes of the weird kid ritual of hanging off of mom and pretending to be shy, the littles were off and running. And that’s when the crazy began!
We foolishly believed that the three of them would occupy each other enough for us to engage in some mommy-conversation. Boy, were we mistaken! Who would have thought that these pint-sized rugrats could be such a handful! Had we wanted to truly keep up with them, we’d have needed to train for a marathon. It was as if they fed off of each other’s energy, which, in turn, quadrupled their own stores.
To say it was chaotic would be an understatement. It was more like every natural disaster bundled up into three mini packages. It took four grown women every ounce of concentration and wit to keep tabs on these kids. Even with one more adult, it was almost impossible. Between trying to avoid broken necks from nosedives off the jungle gym to ensuring all three were accounted for at all times—which was probably the hardest part, all four of us were ready for a nap within minutes.
I felt like a rodeo clown, and it’s likely that we all looked exactly like one. By the end of it, our hair was on end, sweat was pouring off of us, and no amount of oxygen was sufficient enough to keep our lungs from collapsing in on themselves. We were definitely not a pretty bunch. Any onlooker would have assumed we’d escaped the nut house…when, in reality, we were ready to be committed.
Who would have thought that three mini-humans, each no more than a quarter of our size could give us a better workout—both physically and mentally—than any P-90x and Dr. Phil combined?!