Tristan yelled "NO DYLAN! I don't' want to run an' get tired for school."
"O.k., o.k." I said while I circle the rickshaw (the red and yellow, double bike trailer slash jogger stroller thing I parade around town with while older women feel compelled to tell me that they did not have such a thing when their children were young) trying to herd the three "monkeys".
Running out of time and patience I solve the problem by letting Tristan who is six and a half ride in the rickshaw with Liam (almost two).
Sidebar- Last week Tristan and I had a "big boy" talk that it is time to stop riding in strollers; he is simply getting too big (he grew two inches over the last few weeks of summer). Head down with his sheepish eyes he said "O.k., mommmmy, we get an adult stroller." I said, "No, that is called a WHEELCHAIR."
We maneuver through the construction crew that have been by hand creating new sidewalks for us and our other neighbors (Is it 2008? And we still make sidewalks on hands and knees, huh?) . We run along the road in the busy morning traffic and finally get to the finished portion of the sidewalks when Dylan says, "Mommy, let's keep on running. We will make a strong body for soccer"
Trying to act supportive, I run with him while pushing the rickshaw that contains at least seventy pounds of pure boy power. This summer I have let my regular exercise go, besides walking the dogs and tennis when the clouds did not unload downpours of rain. By the first few feet I am dying, almost falling over, but I want to be supportive and it's not like a four year old can run by himself on the side of the busiest road in town, so I continue.
We loop through town and I catch my reflection in the glass of the Rite Aid and I think 'Oh may god! What the hell am I doing? Everything is shaking.' Still trying to be supportive and out of all oxygen (I better get the best mommy award this year) we are closing in on Tristan's school and I realize, I FORGOT TO PUT ON LIPSTICK!
From the inside of the rickshaw Tristan is scream at friends... that are walking like all first graders do. I realize, soon I will be getting the mommy stares, 'Oh, you still LET your child ride in the stroller.'
"O.k., Dylan, mommy is going to walk the rest of the way (and find the lipstick I put in my bag just for drop-off and pick-up)."
Just as we enter the school yard where all the chipper, just-got-out-of-the-shower and all made-up, designer wearing mommies (and some daddies) are discussing their latest child's miracle, I feel my face and it is like I just got out of the sauna. My forehead is covered in sweat and it is dripping down my cheeks.
"Oh, crap!" As my monkeys blend into the sea of kids, I look through my bag for anything I can quickly wipe the sweat off with. 'Ah, I have it.' Not a tissue (all mommy keep in their bags, not me) or a napkin, the next best thing, A DIAPER!
Yes, I wiped my face with a diaper (a clean one, thank you) and slapped on some lipstick without all THE MOMS knowing and I was ready for the morning mommy news.