I lost my mind several days ago and signed Carson, Ella and I up to pick blueberries. My super-mom-wanna-be side filled my mind with nonsense like, “enrichment” and “learning” opportunities for the kids. What the hell ever. This morning my rather-be-on-the-computer-with-the-kids-watching-Dora side has reconsidered. But since I already RSVPed, we’re going against my better judgment.
The acid in my stomach is churning with worry and trepidation. Two kids, a stroller (I don’t even KNOW if they allow strollers), camera bag, hand cleaning paraphenalia, diapers, wipes, beer, sunscreen, snacks, extra clothes, and my TWO TOO-YOUNG children (yes I think I DO need to mention them twice)…blueberry picking??…Why do I do this to myself?
All I can think is, “There’s going to be mud! There’s going to be blueberry juice! The stains! I won’t survive! I won’t survive!”
I can almost hear the blueberry farm workers calling as I set off into the field with all my gear and two toddlers and into my certain demise, “DEAD WOMAN PICKING BLUEBERRIES.”
It’s been great knowing you. Due to some bad decisions on my part, I guess that this will be our last time together unless somehow, some way, I make it through this execution day. Pray for my soul.