Can I Use These Strawberries to Make Wine?

9:30 PM

Once upon a time, in a far away land called Colorado, lived a girl who dreamed of whimsy, fantasy, dancing in long skirts in fields full of daisies with her little ones.



Then, she spawned, her children got older, got louder, got whinier, and they got sassy.

We went strawberry picking yesterday. It was...I started to type fun, but I don't know that it actually was. It was hot AF, the mozzies were out in full force, and there were 3 kids in tow. The older of the 3, was dressed as cute as can be. I mean, this kid has great style (side note: when strangers tell me my child has great style, I, literally, want to punch them in their stupid face. Who the hell do you think dresses her?!) and she was rocking boho chic. I made sure to ask this child if she had to go potty before we left the house, and then before we left her Auntie KyKy's house. "Nope. I promise. I don't have to go at all." What happens the second we step out of the car? Hands to the crotchal area, followed by a whiney, "Mommy? I have to go potty right now and I can't wait." #punchingmyselfintheface



Spawn 2 has lost a shoe and is picking and S H O V E L I N G only the least ripe strawberries into his mouth as quickly as is humanly possible - leaves and all. Whatever. He's happy.




Spawn 3 is playing with my keys. Let me be more specific. He is playing with the automatic key that locks & unlocks the family circus bus. He is, specifically, only hitting the lock button, so much so that the strawberry picking anthem is just my stupid fecking car horn beeping repeatedly.




I am covered in mozzies, trying to take pictures of the littles, and sweating like a 300-pound hog in short shorts, which means I can't bend over without flashing the other patrons, a grey shirt (hello, pit stains), and Birks. Birks in dirt. My hair was on fleek on top, but sopping wet underneath.

My best friend is dressed in long pants and a long sleeve button-up. She was hoping for a new head shot. Never ask for an attractive picture of yourself when you are with my children. It is nearly impossible. At one point, she had one of the twins tucked up under her arm, her aviators askew, covering only one eye with her hair completely tangled in the other side of the glasses. She looked like, well, a mom.

Just before the sweaty hot mess emerged.Should have snapped a pic. Damn.
Also, who in the feck wears this outfit to pick strawberries? Only Kylie.

The cherry on top? $23.67 for this "fun." $5/person (over the age of 2) to get in, and then $5/lb extra that Maddie "had to have."


May my children look back on these pictures in our family yearbooks with fond memories of Mama taking them to do fun things, and not watching her chug a bottle of wine in the pantry as soon as we walked in the door.

a.

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