The Weather

Yesterday was one of those days....my head was killing me because after my kids being semi-sick for most of 2008 and early 2009, I finally caught something they had. Not sure if I have a cold, allergies, or just stress, but my head was killing me. We began our 3 block walk to school while my 14-month old screamed in her bright pink umbrella stroller (the green one was stolen a few weeks ago...are you kidding me?) and my son decided he would not move. "MOM, it is TOO cold, we need to take the car!" I have a lot of concerns about raising my children in LA, drugs, tatoos, the strange idea that a work day is from 9-2, and death from a shark attack when they decide surfing is their life passion....but weather wimpiness...I hadn't thought about that. It was 62 degrees and a little windy and my 3 year old kept saying his knees were frozen and wouldn't move. At this point I said in a postive, cheery, but lets hurry or we will be late voice, "Jack, some kids walk to school in the snow and rain. We are so lucky to have this weather." He looked at me with his big blue eyes and said "no they don't...that would be a bad choice." Bless him....

As he began to walk in the freezing 60 degree weather I looked back and saw he was upset...again. "What's wrong now?" I growled. "I don't like what I am wearing...I hate my clothes." He said with a arms crossed and a big pout. "Join the club kid, I haven't liked what I was wearing or enjoyed my clothes for the past 30 years....get used to it, it is genetic! Now MOVE!"

That day I had to pick him up from school and run back to work because of babysitter issues and unfortantely I showed up late. There is nothing worse than seeing your kid sitting there, waiting in the pick-up line, and knowing he is going to be the last one. "Hey Jack!", I screamed as I ran in my heels down the very dangerous grassy hill where many mothers, grandmothers, and nannys have tumbled or slipped in the past. "I didn't think you were going to come, what happened?" he said with a dejected look on his face. Oh the guilt..."I am sorry, I was running late, but I am here now." My son pulled me aside, took my face in his two little greasy, dirty, paint stained hands and said "look me in the eye mama, if you do that again, I will put you in your room, shut the door, and no one will come and get you for a long time! Do you understand me?" Yes, I do understand. I put a note in my treo with the reminder set for all the days I pick him up "always be late..."