Lady, get your kid under control!

What happened to me? I used to have it all together! Well, somewhat together anyway. Now, I'm the mom who opens the side door on the minivan on a windy day trying to grab the fast food wrappers and empty water bottles as they fly out followed by the sippy cup filled with what I'm pretty sure is curdled milk from a week ago, grabbing my screaming toddler as he tries to rip off his safety belt while listening to my 3 oldest children complain about this or that or bicker amongst each other. The children pile out, the sippy cup gets thrown back in, my purse is falling off my shoulder, I've got the 3 year old slung over my arm like a sack of oats and I turn to witness the icy disdain of the Ms. Skinny Blonde parked in the mercedes next to me. What? This is how I roll, don't hate. I wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not. This is my life in a nutshell. So, it should be no surprise to anyone when I show up to Lindsay's softball game yesterday with Ethan in tow, and it's an unmitigated disaster.
I had visions of grandeur, I admit. I saw myself strolling down the walkway, cool as a cucumber with my adorable little toddler in tow. Everyone to turn and smile and point at his inherent cuteness. "What an adorable little boy", they would say. He would smile, flash his baby blues, do some outrageously funny little dance move that only he could do, and they would laugh and wish they had one. We would sit and watch Lindsay play, he would point and cheer for his big sis, while poking at the ground with sticks and running around in little circles never venturing too far from his awesome mommy. I would be the envy of the softball moms. "How does she have such well behaved kids" they would exclaim! I would roll my eyes, and say something like "oh, I am so lucky...I just don't know how I do it" and laugh. Tom and Candy would sit there pea green with envy as I hold court, cool and elegant with the demeanor befitting a queen.
*insert reality here*
That's the problem with dreams, when reality comes crashing down around you it's made all the more difficult because of what you envisioned it could be.
Problem 1:
It's 90 degrees. What's the problem you ask? I'm wearing all black, long sleeves. It was cool that morning when I got dressed! OMG, I'm sweating profusely, looking anything but calm, cool and collected but...
Ethan is sitting in my lap, looking all cute and people are smiling, so this situation can still be salvaged. Right? WRONG! I take my jacket off. Whew! That's better. Okay, GO LINDSAY! (She's playing outfield, Ethan doesn't know it's her yet, but he's content to sit there). Okay, 3 outs later, they come off the field leading to...
Problem 2
Ethan spies Lindsay. "Teensie!" he screams. Jumps off my lap and runs to his sister, who is very glad to see him. Then all hell breaks loose... She tries to walk back into the dugout. Ethan, naturally follows. Only mean mommy grabs him and says "no no sweetie, you have to stay out here". Everyone is still smiling. Then it happens....
BLOODCURLING SCREAMING! "TEENSIE!" waaaaa! waaaaaa! I attempt to pick him up, he kicks he screams, he tries to pinch me! He throws his head back howling. We go sit down, but I quickly realize this is never going to work. We are getting annoyed glances now, and everyone is staring. I'm sweating, Ethan is screaming, and Lindsay is looking like she'd like to crawl back in the dugout and hide. Oh, wait...I spy a park! That will work. It's close enough so I can see Lindsay, but it will keep him entertained. "Look Ethan, a stick, now let's go to the park". Ethan, throws down the stick, jerks his little hand out from mine (who knew the strength of someone so small!) and makes a run for it. Straight to the dugout. Again. Mommy runs after him (which isn't pretty let me tell you), grabs him, and attempts to conjole him by talking about slides and swings and whatnot. Predictably, it does not work.
He's now refusing to look at me, but at least he's not screaming anymore. I ask him if he's going to be good, he says something that I'm pretty sure would be censored if you could understand it. I put him down and show him some pretty leaves and sticks. He plays for all of about a second. Then he takes off running down the field toward the parking lot. I follow behind, laughing at first, telling him to stop. He laughs and keeps running. I'm still thinking I could catch up easy but start walking faster as I see the parking lot looming before me.
"Ethan, STOP! Ethan!" I'm yelling, huffing and puffing behind him now, really sweating, and trying to catch up in my flip flops (is this kid on steroids! who knew he could run so fast). Now I'm getting panicky. He's very close to the parking lot. I finally catch up, grab him by the arm and he does the dreaded 50lb dead weight drop. Afraid I'm going to wrench his arm out of the socket, I lean over, drop my phone and keys and attempt to pick him up. He begins to scream bloody murder again, everyone is staring. I'm so embarrassed. I bend over with him and grab my phone and keys and start shuffling toward the car praying I don't drop him and have some well meaning mom call CPS on me.
He starts to slide out, I've got him under the arms, his body dangling. My hip sticking out to keep him from dropping too far and accidentally choking him. We make it to the car, I somehow get the door open and throw him in. He picks up his sippy cup with curdled milk and chunks it at me, spilling down the front of my shirt. So now on top of being sweaty, I reek like spoiled milk. Pushing my sweaty hair off my brow, I wrestle him down in his car seat and buckle him in. I know I have a wedgie, but I'm going with it. I will not add picking my underwear out of my butt to my list of humiliations on the day. I shut the door, leaning against it, breathe deeply...hoping that maybe, just maybe no one even noticed. I get in the car. Shut the door. Turn the AC on high, and the radio on loud. I drive home where my day only gets worse, but I'll save that for another time....
This is my life. Welcome.