I had another shitty weekend to add to my burgeoning collection. Picture this: you’re me, right? You get an email in early spring about the charity Zoo walk with your Original Six Baby Buddies and you’re so excited that you pledge $25 right away. You save the date. You alert the Boy. You gently encourage him to sign up.

A month later he makes plans to see an art exhibit that same weekend. You don’t mind, although the weekend is getting a little squeezed. Around the same time you start to organize the Sunday School graduation ceremony, which will take place the week after the zoo walk. You are slightly stymied by the lack of organization, but you figure it’ll all work out in time.

Saturday dawns bright & chipper. You get ready. You get the baby ready. You encourage the Boy to get ready. You help plan and pack the supplies for the day, an undertaking roughly comparable to the Roman conquest of Britannia. You get a little cranky but no feelings are seriously hurt by the time you’re in the car, knitting in the passenger seat as the Boy speeds down the highway. Blake sleeps. All is well. That is, until you get to the zoo and notice the surprising lack of crowds. The Boy points out a banner that advertises tomorrow’s charity walk.

That’s right. Tomorrow.

You are now stuck between a rock and another rock. The Boy is busy tomorrow. You are busy tomorrow. The only one who is not busy is Blake, and he’s never busy. The Boy – not terribly interested in the socializing prospects anyway – wants to pay regular admission and go to the zoo. You want to go home and come back tomorrow, without him if necessary. You don’t like the prospect of coming by yourself, but think that without the Original Six the day is wasted. There is arguing. You cry on a boulder outside the gates for a full half an hour. People stare.

In the end you suck it up and go to the zoo with your family. You even have fun; a little bit at least. But for the rest of the weekend, you can’t help feeling a little squashed between two rocks.

Blake’s favourite exhibit was the gigantic sandbox/dinosaur dig. Whenever another kid would steal his shovels, some mom would tell her kid to “give the toys back to the little girl.” Every. Single. Time.

I bet you didn’t know that Blakes come from eggs. Pop!

Wonder.

Blake didn’t much care for the actual neurotic bear, but he sure like the stone statues. Called them “dogs,” but liked them nonetheless.

Blake & I take a quick nursing break.

There’s that toddler love.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/30/2005 08:49:00 p.m.