Gianna overheated at her soccer game this afternoon. Playing in the Florida sun/heat is no joke right now. I don’t think they should have games between the hours of 12-5. It’s like the surface of the sun. Her face flushed, she got carried off the field. They iced her, monitored her vitals, and was out for the rest of the game.

I don’t know what her face looked like. I don’t know if she showed signs that this was coming. I don’t know anything really… because I wasn’t there.
 
I. Wasn’t. There. Her mom. I feel awful.

I live in an area that has a plethora of playgrounds, but most are limited to the use of the residents of those communities since they pay an HOA or CDD fee to fund those parks.

While at the playgrounds, I started capturing little notes about what I liked/disliked about each of the locations. These are all my opinions based on what my kids would like and what I think as a mom of 4 kids.

Figured might as well share because other parents in my area might like to reference the list to find new spaces and avoid the duds. Or maybe you aren’t in this area at all and you just want to creep on what I do and where I go. That’s cool too. Just don’t be weird:). 

Sometimes I hear this voice in my head that warns me not to do something. And usually I ignore it because I have other voices in my head telling me the opposite. These voices are all talking to me, helping me make choices and decisions, and I typically tell fear, worry, and caution to sit down and let’s have fun! Not that I do bad or crazy things, but I often ignore perceived risks. I don’t operate in fear. Never did.

But as I get older and wiser, I think I need to let that voice have some say….sometimes.

Picking up the lid, I see my neighbor’s can wide open next to me. In that moment, I decide to do something I NEVER do. I toss the soft drink cup lid into my neighbor’s open and empty can. Why did I do this? No damn clue.

Moments later I hear “did you just throw trash in my can?”

Mother fucker.

It was now 9:27am and I was standing in the kitchen, making Evie mac and cheese. Because if my two-year-old wanted a steak at this time, I probably would have made it for her. The time it was taking me to prepare this gourmet meal was apparently too long. Evie climbed up on the countertop and yelled for her “cheese.”

And at the moment, the events of the morning caught up to me. Whatever control I had had up until this point, melted like the creamy packet of orange cheese I was holding in my hand.

I stopped squeezing the foiled packet into the bowl.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and cried.

The scene.
Evie is naked, per usual. What potty-training toddler isn’t? Plus I feel like her bedroom is a mile away now in the new house. It’s easier to let her go commando than walk upstairs to get her a pair of underwear.

So there’s Evie in her birthday suit. She’s also on my countertop, squatting down so her head doesn’t hit the light hanging above her. Gianna’s boyfriend is standing nearby, getting ready to feed Evie her 50th snack of the day. He is so good with her and she loves hanging out with him. Probably because he gives her gummy worms and soda all the time. Then apologizes to me like he had no clue that’s like giving her crack. But I like him anyways. Because despite giving her crack, he plays with her so well and that gives me time to get shit done.