As I was going through drafts of posts that had been started and then abandoned I found this one from back in February all written up and ready to go. I’m not sure why I passed it over the first time but it made me laugh when I read it now. I hope you enjoy it as well.

So…

We were headed home on Sunday and the weather and roads were, shall we say, less than ideal. After about two hours of driving we made a stop for dinner. While all five of us got out of the truck and went into eat for the purposes of describing what life with a three year old is like I’m going to ignore them all (sorry guys) and just tell you what Clara was up to.

First, she needed to be carried in, but not by Dad, by Mom. She did ask very politely – so I carried her inside.

When it came time to order it required physically holding of her face in front of mine to get her to focus and discuss with me what she might possibly eat for dinner.

While we waited for our food in the empty (remember the roads) restaurant we let the kids go nuts over in our corner and Clara careened around tables and ran into chairs (and I do mean that literally)  until it was time to sit down.

Dinner came and it was great.

Until the star of our story tried it, deemed it icky, bad and too spicy as she chewed and spit back out multiple bites.

“Done” with her dinner Clara moved on to her ice water and promptly spilled it down the front of herself.

All of it.

Since Clara’s reaction to spilled water is akin to that of the Wicked Witch of the West I decided we were going back to the truck for pajamas (we still had a few hours of driving left) and made a pit stop at the bathroom on the way out.

In the bathroom she refused to use the toilet while managing to pull the Koala Kare changing table down and bonking herself in the head at least three times before I got her back out, grabbed her hand and told her we were going to the truck.

Frustrated and tired from the circus that was dinner I was doing my best to stay pleasant walking hand in hand with the anarchist. As Clara happily approached the truck my mentally planning of how I was going to get some sort of chocolate fix for the rest of the drive home was interrupted as she piped up with:

“Yeah, I was gettin’ bored here.”

The face that results from asking Clara to “smile.”

I did a mental head slap, stuffed her in her p.j.’s and braced myself for the rest of the “boring” ride home.