F the Park

I’d like the evil aliens to give me back my son. They, obviously, stole that sweet little boy I know and love and replaced him with a biting, sand throwing maniac.

I took the Count to the park today. Thinking after yesterday’s biting incident he needed to get out of the house. Play with his friends. Breathe some fresh air. Turns out, all he really wanted to do was throw sand and shove people.

Going to the park should not be so exhausting. From the moment he got out of the car all I did was yell. I was, officially, that crazed mother you always see at the park. You know, the one CONSTANTLY yelling at her seemingly bratty child to stop doing some devious action. After about 100 threats I finally made good. He threw sand at his friend, and I told him he had to leave the park. The shrill scream from the sandbox to the car would have made anyone within ear shot call child protective services. And, of course, the Princess had to start crying too. Because she can’t stand to see her beloved Count upset. So here I am, one child whimpering on one hip, the other kicking and screaming, half falling off the other hip. Diaper bag half slung over one shoulder with grocery store receipts and sucker wrappers falling out the entire way. Fumbling to get my keys, trying to yell “sorry” to friends as we left, but not being heard over the emotional bundles on both sides of my body.

Someone, anyone, please tell me this gets better. I’m drowning. F the park.


  1. No. No. Don’t F the Park. The Park is your friend. It will make the Count TIRED. Hang in there. It does get better.

  2. Every Mother goes through this. There are good days and bad and its normal.

  3. It was more a bad moment in an otherwise good day. But thank you!

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