How to cram two days worth of activities into one

And fail.

I go back to work on Thursday, for good. And I don't wanna talk about it, other than to put the cramming of activities into some context.

I've been off work since Evie was born in early March. Layla stopped going to daycare at the end of May and we've been hanging ever since. Now, as our time together like this nears it's end, I find myself pushing the limits to "make memories", only to have several epic disasters.

Case in point. Today. What a beautiful, warm, and sunny Alaskan day. After checking the tide table we decided to take the girls and dog to the beach for a fun filled morning of throwing rocks and sticks into the water while the dog swims. It went well. Layla usually has a meltdown when it's time to leave because she wants to stay. Today she told me that she was ready to go. Great! Well, not so great by the time we reached to railroad tracks to go up to the car, she started losing her damn mind. You have to climb on a steep slope of rocks, so I had the baby in the wrap and Layla was pissed because she couldn't be with me. She screamed the whole way home. 30 minutes of torture that ended in her peeing in her car seat.

Car seat cover wash #1.

While Mike cleaned up and recharged his way, the rest of us napped. It was still beautiful when we got up, so I decided to take the girls and the luckiest damn dog in the world for our walk for the day. I popped some popcorn and picked some raspberries to occupy Layla, packed them up in the car, and off we went.

The walk went well for the first 4 miles, and then Evie started to cry. And Layla wanted to get out and push the stroller. And Tullah was tired from her day of fun. And I was fried, and hot, and sweaty, and bright red, cause that's what's happens when I'm hot and sweaty. Recipe for disaster. Enter meltdown #2 for Layla.

I was able to get them loaded in the car, with everyone still screaming. And I caught a "potty" hidden in the wails somewhere. Really? You have to go NOW? When the only potty around is the nasty ass porta potty? Sheesh, you're trying to emotionally scar yourself so that you can never pee or poop properly again. I pick her up, and low and behold, she had already pissed herself. Again.

I was done. So open up my glove compartment of love and prepare to bribe her into shutting the fuck up. Remember how I said it was a warm day? The little chocolates with peanut butter centers of ecstasy were made even better by being all warm and gooey. I can just look at brightly colored pieces of foil and it will create a drool response for me, and so far evil kid #1 is the same. So there she sat, soaked in piss, licking a gooey piece of heaven and having the following "conversation" with herself:

Don't potty in underwear, that's gross.

*giggle*

Oh, so tasty.

I yub chocoyate.

Potty in chair is yucky.

*giggle*

*smack*

Mama, my underwear are wet. Can I have more chocoyate?

And before releasing the car seat cover to Mike to be washed AGAIN, I had to rid it of the melted chocolate evidence of failure.

Unfortunately she has reached the age that she can tattle. Little shit.