So, yesterday we had plans to meet a big group of friends at the beach. I might have mentioned before what a HUGE undertaking it is to get packed up for a day at the beach. I wish it was as simple as throwing a towel in a bag and running out the door, but that is just not the case. It’s like a strategic planning session that requires a great deal of thinking ahead and full cooperation from all participants. However, we are talking about MY twins, who rarely cooperate fully with ANYTHING! Wouldn’t you know that we just couldn’t get loaded up and ready to go without some type of “incident”??!!
After I had finally finished packing all of the snacks and lunches and drinks, I was ready to get the kids in their suits and to lather them up with sunscreen. I had to barter with both of them in order to accomplish this simple task, however, because my daughter was deep into “Firehouse Dog” on t.v., and my son, as usual, was completely mesmerized by the Indiana Jones Wii. I had to switch into full-on threatening mode in order to get either one of them to collaborate with me. Finally, I got my son to realize I meant business and to get his butt outside to be sprayed down with sunscreen. I could vaguely hear my daughter yelling about something as the front screen door shut behind my son and me, but I wasn’t quite sure what she was fussing about, nor did I really care. I was on a mission to get to the beach!
Just about the time I was halfway through my son’s sunscreen application, and, coincidentally, just about the time a neighbor was walking her dog past our house, my daughter whipped open the screen door and screamed a bunch of unidentifiable phrases at the top of her lungs. She was so loud that I think I even saw the neighbor’s dog cover his ears for protection. It took me a second or two to decipher just what she was so upset about, which apparently was that my son didn’t flush the toilet when he went pee earlier. When I glanced up to tell her to stop all the screaming, I happened to notice that she was standing on the front porch with nothing but her tankini top on. The child was buck naked from the waist down, crying hysterically about the pee that was left behind in the toilet. I mean, you would’ve thought that my son had set the house on fire with as upset as she was. Girls can be so dramatic! I looked back over at my neighbor to apologize for all the hullabaloo and found her chuckling to herself, as if she had been there, done that before, many times herself. That’s the great thing about fellow parents — embarrassing moments just don’t really exist because they’ve happened to all of us in some way, shape or form.
I was able to calm my daughter down enough to get her tankini bottoms back on her, and we finally made our way to the beach — thirty minutes, late, no less. Luckily, the other moms we were meeting had also had their own “pantless meltdown”-type mornings, so we all ended up arriving around the same time. Better late (and clothed) than never, I guess!