small things {bummer dude}

small things #19 ... bummer dude

Last week I shared about a precious snapshot about my two little pocksicle-loving girls.  In order to be on the up-and-up, I thought I would share about another trip outside for pocksicles and playing.  A little snapshot to reassure you that live isn't always all grins and giggles around here.

After a rather whiney and messy lunch, my two little girls started in with the standard, "Can we have a sweet treat" negotiations.  As I wiped ranch dip and ketchup off the table and off a few faces, I declined the option of dessert.  And the moaning began.

"I didn't have a pocksicle last time.  I didn't!"

"But you said we could.  You said so.  You did.  You did, Mommy."

"When did I say that we would have dessert after lunch?"

"I didn't have a pocksicle last time.  I want a white pocksicle."

"You said that Aaron was having ice cream with his class and maybe we could have something sweet."

...sigh... "Okay.  Okay ... you may head out and have a popsicle.  Scoot, scoot."

I finished up the few remaining dishes and heard the girls laughing out in the garage.  On my way to check on them, I was reminded of the load of laundry waiting to be folded and the load waiting for the dryer.

"Mommy!  You said you were coming outside."

"Give me a minute.  Let me get this folded and I'll be right out.  I can see you from here."

As I folded underwear and matched socks, my girls stumbled up the stairs and into the laundry room.  Their blue faces told me they had really enjoyed their treats.  Blue right up to their cheek bones.

"Wash your hands and faces, please.  And try not to touch anything."

"Mommy ... we want to race our bikes.  When are you coming out?"

"In a minute ... do you see how much more laundry I have to fold?  Just a few pieces ... give me a minute."

As I finally stepped out into the garage, I found Ashley with her helmet on and ready to go.  She had also been busy pulling all our lawn chairs out toward the mailbox.  It was apparent that she'd been setting up bleachers for the upcoming races.

Lydia, on the other hand, had no shoes on and her helmet was on backwards.

"Liddy, honey, please go get some shoes on and then I'll help you with your helmet.  Okay girls ... we have about 10 minutes until it's time to go in and read and rest."

And the moaning began again in earnest.

"But we didn't get to play yet!  We wanted to have a bike race.  We haven't even gotten all the chairs out."

(Please tell me I'm not the only one with kids who plan and prepare for hours ... but never really get around to actually playing.  They set up and get organized, but never play.  Unless you count the last five minutes when they're crying and whining about not ever getting to play.  Ugh.)

"Well ... we have 10 minutes so you can either spend that time racing or telling me you never got to race.  It's up to you."

At this point, Ashley began to slowly bike around the culdesac.  With a frown on her face.  And she was shooting angry looks in my direction.  The saddest little bike rider ever.

Meanwhile, Lydia had parked her bike in the gutter and was furiously pedaling nowhere as her back wheel spun around two inches off the concrete.  She was also unhappy.

"I's stuck, Mommy!  I's stuck!  Help me!"

It was at this particular moment that I remembered the camera I had brought outside with the hopes of some fun new snapshots of my girls enjoying the chance to be outside.  Hmmm ... maybe I don't want to capture this type of fun.

"Aaahhah!  It's in my eye!  Owww!  It's in my eye!"

Ashley was suddenly screaming and crying as she clutched her eye and screeched.  Lydia paused mid-pedal and looked stunned.  As I approached Ashley, I could see her nose running and tears were squeezing past her fingers, running down her cheeks.  I looked in vain for a kleenex in my pocket.

"Stop scratching, honey.  Just let it tear.  Let your tears wash it out."

The squeezing, rubbing and wailing continued.  Lydia sat frozen on her bike.

"Okay.  Close your eyes and let them cry.  Now climb off your bike and hold on to my pants and we'll walk you and your bike up to the garage.  Keep your eyes closed."

Tissue in hand, we dabbed her eye and found the culprit:  A little seed blown on the wind.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded and sniffed.

"Alright.  Well, let's take our stuff in.  I think we should do our reading and resting."

"NoooO!"

"Yes."

"I don't want to!"

"Bummer dude."

We made it in doors.  We read two books.  We climbed, crying, into our beds.  We still had blue mouths.

We left the chairs in the front yard ... hopeful for the next time the girls come out to race.

Bummer dude ... our favorite saying when life doesn't go our way.  

And the relief that life isn't always so bummer-ish.