Today I talked about a fun place to go in Little Rock. And it looked ideallic, right? You have one kid and wonder how I do it with 4 under 8 and me 7 months pregnant to boot. That’s because I pick and choose out of the 100 or so pictures that were taken what I want you to see. And because I can’t help but be real, the serene pictures I posted have bothered me just a bit. I know the rest of the story.
As much fun as the day was, and it was fun:
There was another side:
The side that was 90 something degrees hot. On a day that I didn’t pack enough water cups, that I’d already had my blood drawn at the doctor’s and was feeling less than stellar. Where the kids had been cooped up in the doctor’s office for 2 hours and then in the van with my hubby waiting on my lab work for another 20 minutes. Where we threatened to not go down to the river at all to a bunch of loud fighting kids. The day where I balanced 5 sandwiches on my lap with peanut butter spread everywhere (because for some reason I decided to make the sandwiches in the van instead of at home ahead of time) while everybody whined about how hungry they were. Where after approximately 5 minutes at the park ThePrincess needed to go potty. In the well-used porta-potty. Where when we returned to the park I went and stood by my husband who was taking all the pictures. Where ThePrincess couldn’t find me – in plain sight. Where she walked back up the hill alone to the porta-potty to find me. And skinned her knee. Where I discovered she was missing as she was walking, crying, back down the hill. Where I accusatorily asked her where she’d been and why she wandered off. Salt to the wounded knee. This is the day where she started crying and screaming and throwing a fit for 15 minutes. Where nothing I did consoled her. Where my 2 year old took my leather shoe that I thought I was guarding and “washed” it for me. Where I got too hot, too tired, too cranky and rushed them through the Quapaw exhibit. Where I rushed them through the “leafy tunnel” and waddled with my hands on my hips (never a good sign). Where I told the kids to steer clear of the homeless man on the bench – like the good samaritan I am. Where, while my husband took sweet pictures of the 3 older kids, I stood bent over at the van cussing in my head about a 2 year old that wouldn’t hold still for me to change him into dry clothes. Where I realized I was a complete party pooper when this whole water park had been my idea from the beginning.
But I know the whole story. The one where there are ups and downs. Where you take the good with the bad. Where you know good days aren’t ever worry-free and completely careless. Where you make up your mind that you’re going to have fun. If it kills you. Where you dwell on the good and make fun of the bad. Where when you look at those pictures you know that someday you’ll cherish all of them. They’ll all hold such special memories and create a complete picture. A picture that, as a whole, is so much sweeter than it’s individual parts.
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