The other day I had the worst time taking the girls to the pool. It is always hard to get my girls out the door in the first place (see multiple previous blogs) and so when it continues to be hard, well, that's a sign to just turn around and go home!
It all was going well until we reached the parking lot of the pool. Macey Grace (see previous blog for the irony there) fell on the pavement. Hard. Her hands and her knee took the brunt of the fall, and she started CRYING.
Then the pool was closed and so we had to go to the baby pool. Which caused more crying. And Molly was exhausted and could not get comfortable in her hot stroller. Which caused more crying.
At one time I had all three girls crying.
I gave up, told all three girls to get moving (well, Molly had no choice) went back home and picked up the phone to vent my frustration to Garry.
Now, as a general rule men do not know how to respond to said venting. Sometimes they lecture (you should have never tried that during Molly's nap time!). Sometimes they tune out (can we talk about this when I get home?). But G just asked if I needed some time off from the girls when he got home. And I held the phone out, looked at it, and thought, "Wow, he's getting good at this."