Parenting FAIL

I suppose since I've been taking parenting classes for the past six years, and since the class gives us access to a parenting "coach," who has a library stocked full of reference books for just about every kind of problem, a person might assume that I never make any parenting mistakes.

It's OK, you can laugh. I'll wait.

Tap, tap.

No really, I'll wait until you're finished.

Do you need a tissue?

So anyway, my most recent mega fail came earlier this week, as I set out with the boys for a trip to the organic farm for pumpkin and vegetable picking. As we were leaving, Zach was having a little issue about who knows what and he wouldn't get his shoes, so I carried him to the car with socks on. Then when we were halfway out of town I realized I had never packed his shoes. Luckily, I have a pair of backup shoes in the trunk so I didn't worry. It was only once we got to the farm, 35 miles away, that I realized we hadn't used those shoes for at least six months, and they looked suspiciously small for his big feet. So I did what any under-prepared parent would do: I pushed them on. And when they wouldn't fit over the socks, I took off his shoes and pushed and pushed and squeezed them on his bare feet.

At some point after the wagon ride and the pumpkin-picking, he started to complain that his feet hurt. But we plodded along and finished the vegetable picking anyway. Then we finally got back to the car and I pried the shoes off his feet. He had big blisters at the back of each heel - and that was just the beginning of the pain. The blisters got worse throughout the day, and now they are ragged and ugly and painful. He won't let anyone near them even to apply a band-aid, so he's been reduced to wearing his Crocs back-less (like clogs) all week. Ouch. Apparel FAIL.

Anyhow, Luke loved the vegetable picking (and eating) and he practically had to be dragged away from the fields. We came home with an enormous bag filled with dirt-covered green onions, radishes, green beans, and carrots. He decided that we should have an giant vegetable feast for dinner. And while the two of us washed, scrubbed, and peeled, what was Zach doing? He got impatient waiting for the organic feast to come together, so he stripped off his clothes (not sure I understand that part), planted himself in front of the refrigerator, and started eating cold breakfast sausages. Child nutrition FAIL.

Oh, and after all that, I asked Zach what was his favorite part of being at the farm. "Watching the goats poop," was his response. Perspective FAIL.

On Wednesday morning we were all enjoying a nice morning at home, and at 8:10 Luke asked if he could take a bath. Why sure. Good idea. So now picture him at 8:14, lying in repose in the bath and lazily squirting water in the air, while I finish the lunches and then realize, hmm, that's funny: it's the sound of familiar kids walking out in front of our house. It's almost as if school was starting at ... 8:15!!!! Because it's Wednesday and school starts at 8:15, not 8:55, on Wednesdays!!!

The soundtrack to the next 30 seconds went something like this, "LUKE - GET OUT OF THE TUB! Getoutgetoutgetout!!! Clothes! Any clothes! Clothesclothesclothes! Now shoes! Shoes! And we're going! GOGOGOGOGOGO!!!" Scheduling FAIL. Preparedness FAIL.

I could go on and on like this except it would probably get a little monotonous. Let me just wrap up with a happier story about tonight: I had to drop something off at a neighbor's house, about three blocks away, and the boys were gearing up for post-dinner crankiness. As it started to get darker and darker I had an idea: haul out the glowsticks. So we marched down the street, each of us brandishing a light saber, waving it menacingly in front of trees and bushes that happened to cross our paths, and we made it safely and happily over to the neighbor's house. Glowsticks FTW.