The (Stinky Poopy) Marina.

Decided to play hooky and ditch church this morning, spend some "I want to" time with my boys instead of us always shuffling around to "have to's". Just thinking about it exhausts me.
I wanted to try an idea that sparked in my head a couple of days ago: me running, pushing the jogging stroller with Noah, and Ethan riding his bike beside us. I knew in theory it worked but in real life?
But today was as good as any day to give it a whirl. First, though, packing. Packing to go anywhere with young children is like moving across the United States, or even to another country. You basically have to have everything you have in your house in some sort of bag or basket or chest. It's ridiculously exhausting and usually will keep me from doing anything fun because the thought of having to get all their crap together is enough to make me want nap time, now. Not to mention unpacking after the whole escapade is done. But anyway, today, we packed. Bike, helmet, sunscreen (mine and the boys), towels, toys, ice chest, sandwiches, bars, ice water (mine and Ethan's), diaper bag, diapers, formula, bottle, baby food, spoon. Stroller. Extra clothes.
There's more, but I will spare you.
Finally we all got in the car (I could barely see out the back windshield) but we couldn't leave because there was a big Mor Furniture for Less truck blocking my driveway. It's a good thing it was a huge truck or I probably would have reversed right into it.
I was feeling a little feisty by this point and lucky for the truck driver he was walking out of my neighbor's house to move his big rig or things might have been ugly.
Everything was going super. Then we parked the car and Ethan got out of his car seat.
Not two seconds after his darling four year old feet hit the pavement and he started complaining about not wanting to ride his bike, that he couldn't, that he wanted to run the two miles instead.
This is what is maddening about being a mother to little people: they change their minds, and they are completely unpredictable, always.
Last time we were at the Marina, Ethan rode the whole two miles without so much as a squeak of complaint. That's why I had this maddening idea to begin with.
Desperate, I told him to just try, that if he didn't like it we'd stop (And do what? I didn't know. That's the thing the four year olds. You just have to be one thought, one suggestion, ahead of them. you make it up as you go.)
He whined and screamed for a while, and then pretty soon he was quiet and pedaling and we were off! We got into a rhythm, Ethan keeping up, Noah quiet, I thought, This was so worth it!
After our run we loaded everything we could into the stroller and I walked the boys what might as well have been a hundred miles down to the beach, where we were welcomed with a huge sign that read:
NO SWIMMING OR WADING. DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT GETTING WET OR THE MARINA PATROL WILL ARREST YOU AND ANY YOUNG CHILDREN WHO ARE WITH YOU. WE WILL DETAIN YOU IN SEPARATE CELLS SO YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO COMFORT THE LITTLE ONES. OR FEED THEM.
(This was not exactly word for word).
But me, hot, feisty, baby on hip and tired, told Ethan to go jump in. I set up our towels and waited for the Marina Patrol to come and get me; I didn't care. I am a woman who almost has a tattoo for gosh sakes.
We didn't last long, or should I say Noah didn't last long, so fifteen minutes later we packed everything back up in the stroller and started the hundred mile climb back to the car, Ethan whining and complaining and falling all over his bike like he was dying and Noah screaming his head off like I had just stolen him.
This is when I thought, This is so NOT worth it!
We got home and somehow all made it into our separate beds. I laid in mine hot and sweaty, the sheets rough on my dirty, newly tanned skin.
My body was so tired I felt like the bed was swallowing me up. I fell asleep listening for the sounds of the boys waking up: the mummerings from the crib, and the light sound of barefeet in the hall; the sounds that rule and run my life, the sounds that make me whole.