Metaphorical Memorial Day Baseball

Monday was Memorial Day, and being a government employee, I was off. Josh, being a government employee for the city police department, has to work some holidays, depending on the rotation of the schedule, had to work.  So, it was the mommy and Bee show, and I had this great plan of what we’d do and how we’d do it and it was going to be glorious, a day to remember for years. If you haven’t realized it yet, I’m still new to this mom-of-a-toddler thing. I’m also just slightly delusional when it comes to planning things because I’m a type A personality and plan everything down to the detail ,and I always get disappointed ever so slightly. So, needless to say, the days didn’t go eaxactly as planned.

We left later than I wanted. We went to Walmart to buy the last of our father’s day stuff, and the card machine didn’t want to acknowledge my tapping of it at check out and the lady stood over my shoulder going, “You need to push in!” That was strike one. Then we went to Cracker Barrel because we’re (still) in the process of looking for Plex the robot from Yo Gabba Gabba to complete the set before next weekend. They didn’t have it there which made me mad. On top of that, my child, the glutton, knows Cracker Barrel and knows they feed her there and tried to run into the dining room multiple times during our short visit and screamed when I made her leave. That was strike two. Then I realized I forgot to get cash to get into the park and had to find an ATM. So I went to Kroger thinking they’d have one. Oh they did, but it was inside ( I have no idea why I thought there’d be a drive thru ATM at a Kroger). Well, everyone and their mother was at this Kroger and everyone and their mother was walking in the middle of the road. So I went across the street to the Walgreens, drug the kid inside, and luckily, found an ATM…which only gave out $20s. They don’t like $20s at the park. So, I broke it and got Bee an apple juice. All of this was strike three, and all of this was before we got to the park. But I wasn’t ready to call it a strike out. I was determined.

Once at the park, we had to wait in a long line to get in. There was a park ranger who came over to help the guy in the booth and he helped the guy in front me and then he told me to move ahead. So, instead of being helped right then, I had to wait another 5 minutes on top of my already 10 minute wait to buy my day pass. Once in, everyone and the mother seemed to follow us to the park. There were no parking spots. People were everywhere. There were dogs without leashes running around and people were literally playing chicken to get spots. Finally, we found a spot a little walking distances away. We walked up to the pavilion (because Bee insists on walking whenever she gets the chance) and this family of four behind us kept nearly running over my kid, and when we moved over to let them around and they wouldn’t go around us! So, we finally got up to the water playground and the lifeguard tells me we have to have a wrist band to get in. This was not the case last year, but she wouldn’t let us in. So, I went and stood in the snack food line where only one window was open and waited. For 15 minutes, I had to hold a 25lbs angry toddler who was hot and had seen the water and didn’t want to wait in the line either. Finally we get up to the window and I tell her we are under 2 and she tells me we don’t need a wristband because we’re under two. I thought my head was going to explode. Strike three, four, and five. But we weren’t out. Because as soon as she hit that water, everything else was forgotten.

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Who cared if we didn’t have Plex or if we were there 30 minutes later than I had planned. This happened and it was exactly what I had planned.

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Now, looking past the fact that my kid gotten flattened by four different people (not just kids, an adult too) and the fact that some monster with a mustache coming in who was clearly too old to be in the playground purposely sprayed me with water and kept following me to continue to get me wet, it was perfect. Sunny and warm and Bee giggles – this is what I will remember.

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My happy girl.

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So after the fact who cares about the strikes? I hate baseball anyways.

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