When if finally warmed up enough on Tuesday to go for a walk Elliott and I jumped on the chance. We were suffering from holiday weekend hangover, a little befuddled because we had to wear long pants, and were desperate for a bit of sun.
Dumb mom that I am, I assumed that we'd take the type of walk in the afternoon that we take in the morning. You know the kind - the kid sits IN THE STROLLER and merrily points out trucks, birds, more trucks and asks for his uncle "MEME" as I work up a sweat pushing him up and down hills and around the lake.
Well, I was wrong. Things started simply enough with me letting him walk to the mailbox while I pushed the stroller. That apparently was enough of the proper momentum to give him the guts to fight me. I tried to put him in the stroller and he rebelled - like a classroom of kids against a substitute teacher. We walked a little bit further and I tried again - this time I wasn't going to fail. With much kicking and screaming I got the boy in the stroller.
He cried, he lurched forward, he arched his back. I gave up and got him out.
He walked the whole way home with a pacifier in his mouth and his blanket wrapped around his neck...yelling at me.
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