I'm Scared of Any Overtired Two Year-Old

There’s nothing I enjoy more than writing this blog.

Okay, that’s a lie. But I do really enjoy it. And I have a lot to say. And lots of silly stories about my kids. 

Which isn’t reflected in the long absences I’ve taken from Peanut Butter Urinal recently. 

But we’re busy. It’s sports season. Which sports? All sports.

Let me tell you about our weekend.

On Saturday, we had seven games. Yes, seven.

We started bright and early with Tess’s soccer game. 

There’s not much to say about Tess’s soccer game. It was early and she apparently only goes to show off her pink shin guards and socialize. Which is fine—she’s 4. She skips around and chats with friends and occasionally lays eyes on the soccer ball rolling haphazardly around the turf.

Then Sam’s soccer game.  Which I have even less to say about that game because fifteen minutes before it was supposed to start, it got canceled. We were already in the parking lot.

Then we had to split up. I took Sam, Tess, and Lou to Sam’s football game, thirty minutes away. 

They charge admission for those, you know. And I never have cash. Because I’m under the age of 40. So I had to borrow from a mom friend whoisover the age of 40 and had a crisp twenty-dollar bill in her wallet. I don’t even remember the last time I’d seen a twenty-dollar bill. Because I’m approaching40 and my memory stinks. 

Meanwhile Tighe stayed at the soccer complex with Nate for his soccer game. I don’t have a lot to say about this game either because, believe it or not, Nate didn’t tell me a lot about it. He only provided about 5 minutes of play-by-play, which isn’t much for him. Usually his re-telling is longer than the game itself. 

And way more dramatic.

From Sam’s game, we went to Wal-mart.

Why Wal-mart, you ask?

Well, because Sam and I both had to pee, Tess was thirsty, and Sam wanted to look for a Lego set that he had “earned” the previous week.

I intended a Target, but I had no idea where we were—somewhere towards Colorado, I think—and Wal-mart was the closest thing we could find.

Thirty minutes, two bathroom trips, one Lego set (Sam), one coloring book (Tess), and one Blippi farm animals book (Lou) later, we emerged into the bright October sunshine, and climbed back into the car to drive the 15 minutes to Nate’s back-to-back flag football games. 

Though unbeknownst to everyone but Sam—who can read a digital clock at this point, what a feat—we actually had nearly 40 minutes before the start of the first game, so my plan was to drive around very slowly, lull Lou to sleep, then find a parking spot at the game where I could watch from the car while Lou napped in his car seat and Sam and Tess played on a playground that was still within my eyesight.

The plan was perfect and when we arrived at the game, there were several open parking spaces that would allow for my visual multi-tasking. Unfortunately, Lou didn’t cooperate and even after a solid thirty minutes of driving back and forth on 143rdStreet, he was still awake. 

I could have driven longer—Lou was so sleepy!—but Sam had to pee. Again. During the same drive, he had already peed into my empty iced tea bottle, but he wasn’t confident that it would hold a second round of his urine, so we had to terminate our lullaby car trip early. 

Let’s recall that part of the reason we stopped at Wal-mart was because Sam had to pee. Which begs the questions: 

·     Is he pre-diabetic as I’ve always suspected? 

·     Does he have an undersized bladder? 

·     Does he have a UTI? 

·     Is he pregnant? 

·     Is the water jug we bought for him too big? 

·     How did he find the time to consume all this water during his football game? 

It’s all a mystery. 

Just like why the parochial schools all charge admission for these little kids’ flag football games. 

Friendless this time, I had to scrounge around in the bottom of my backpack until I found four crumbled dollar bills—still one short—just so Sam could get through the gate and pee. 

Since the game was about to start anyway, I fetched my bag of snacks from the car, waved to Nate on the sideline—he had gotten a ride with a friend from the soccer game to football—and found some grass in the shade where Sam/Tess/Lou could wrestle, whine, demand gum, and periodically run onto the field for me to chase them. 

Ok, that last one was mostly Lou, but Tess and Sam tried it once or twice, too.

I have a lot to say about these back-to-back games, but I don’t want to because I don’t feel like rehashing some of the trauma associated with my roommates’ antics on the sideline. 

I’ll leave it at this: Nate played well.

By the end, Sam was on the bench with Nate’s team, Tess was cartwheeling and somersaulting because she desperately needed to pee, and Lou was wearily rubbing his eyes while watching trash truck videos on my phone.

“Oh, Erin, he’ll fall asleep as soon as you get in the car,” another sympathetic mom said to me.

Except he didn’t because he hates me.

He continued watching trash truck videos—why are there so many trash truck videos on YouTube?—on my phone for the thirty minute drive because any attempt to remove the phone from his grip was met with violent shrieking, and I’ll admit: we’re all scared of him.

I’m scared of confrontation with any overtired two year-old.

**remorseful weeping**

If you’re now asking yourself ‘Where’s Tighe in all this?’ then we haven’t seen each other in a while. Because if we had, you’d know. 

Because I start just about every conversation with a complaint about how Tighe’s coaching 8thgrade football now. For no apparent reason except that football is a great sport and he needed a reason to leave the house three to five nights a week.

I honestly can’t blame him.

So, on the way home from Nate’s game—game #6 of 7 of our marathon Saturday—we intentionally drove by the game that Tighe was coaching.

Like a stalker, I eased our car through the parking lot, begging Sam and Nate to crane their necks to see the scoreboard. Even just to see how much time was left so I could determine whether it was worth it to drag everyone in. 

But they couldn’t see and every time I pumped the brakes too hard, Lou would look up from his trash truck videos in the back seat and yell for me to “drive faster.”

Let me reiterate: I’m scared of confrontation with any overtired two year-old.

So we headed home and I threw some frozen pizzas in the oven. When Tighe got home, he gave me a play-by-play of his game—it’s like living with another Nate—while he mixed drinks for us. 

After I had taken exactly one sip, Lou promptly kicked the table and knocked the entire drink onto the floor. Then he stomped around in the puddle while Tighe and I raced to mop it up. I’m not an alcoholic, nor am I depressed, but I actually did almost cry.

More chivalrous than ever, Tighe handed me his drink and went to make himself another. 

Once we had eaten, I took note of the exhaustion in Tess’s eyes and texted her friend’s mom that Tess was on the verge of sleep and therefore I would notbe dropping her off for a movie night at 7pm.

Instead, all four kids were in bed by 7:30 and Tighe was dozing on the couch soon after.

I’ll gloss over our Sunday because believe it or not, I value word counts, but know that it involved, in this order: a football clinic, cinnamon rolls, church, a play date, another play date, Nate’s lacrosse game, a birthday party, Sam’s attempt at a gingerbread house, a library run, and a Halloween party. 

The best part about such a busy weekend is that we’re not at home to systematically destroy the house.

Because as I type this exact sentence, Lou’s flinging spoonfuls of Greek yogurt around the dining room as I procrastinate his nap. 

Because again: I’m scared of confrontation with any overtired two year-old.