The temperature rose above 40 today. (I'm talking Fahrenheit, not Celsius. That would be unheard of for March in the Midwest!) I was hoping to wash my car today, even though I knew that would mean either holding Alex one-handed while washing the car or letting him hold a brush and create chaos. But after a temper tantrum this morning (normally he doesn't mind if we brush his teeth, but today he didn't want to give me a turn) and a nap strike this afternoon, I gave up on that idea. Instead, I asked Alex if he wanted to go to the park, and after a half hour, we were finally able to leave.
When we arrived, there weren't any kids yet, and an alarm at the elementary school next door sounded for several minutes. Alex kept asking about it, even after I reassured him the policemen would shut it off. (They did.) He didn't want to go down the slide, but we went on the see-saw, and he wanted to swing in the baby swing all by himself. Then, after rocking back and forth on a purple puppy and a fire truck, he wanted to climb a snow pile. Unfortunately, I didn't think about the mud and puddles in front of the snow. Alex slipped and fell, coating his hands, coat, and pants with mud. Right away he wanted to clean his hands, but all I had with me were a tissue and a glove liner. I put him on top of the snow pile, and he stood there for a few minutes before we went home. In the process of cleaning him up and getting him in the wagon, I got mud on my black wool coat. But I still managed to clean Alex up, change him, feed him, let him finally succumb to sleep, take a picture of his muddy clothes (which I can't upload now, sorry), and load the washer before Eugene came home from work.
I suppose as a writer, I should try to find some writing lesson in this, something like "observe details" or "think about all the possible implications of an action." My take-home lesson was "use my day as an excuse to run away to the bookstore to write this evening, leaving Eugene in charge of Alex." It didn't work out tonight, so Eugene owes me one!