I spent the last 3 days at a baseball tournament for the 11 year old. We were in a town about an hour and a half away and the team fundraised to cover the cost of 2 hotel nights for each family. It was me, the 11 year old, the 18, 14, 13, and almost 2 year old. Hubs couldn't go, it was the weekend of his first football game of the season.
So me and 5 kids. Yeah.
100 degree heat. Whoopeee.
The 11 year old spent the majority of the weekend either playing baseball, or exploring the hotel with his teammates, always ending up at the pool. The 14 year old thought he might die because he couldn't get the Playstation 3 he brought from home to work in the hotel room. (Yes, he packed the flippin PS3 and controllers and about 6 games. But forgot underwear.) The 18 and 13 year olds (both girls) fought over who was going to sleep where. They were all always asking what and when we were going to eat. Good thing I planted that money tree in the backyard. ( <---sarcasm~)
But overall the 4 of them were pretty good. The older 3 enjoyed watching their brother play ball, and were helpful when it came to unloading and loading the car.
The almost 2 year old, well, he's almost 2. And the phrase 'Terrible Twos' is bullshit, because technically he won't be 2 until next month and he is terrible as all get out.
He ran around the hotel room like somebody laced his binky with crack. He literally ran from one forbidden activity to the next. Slam the cabinet doors, quick run and open the bathroom door, then run to the minifridge and pull out a soda, someone's coming throw it! Now run to the phone and pick it up yelling "Heyow? Heyow?" and push ALL the buttons. All in 30 seconds. And the absolute best? He could open the door to the room and. get. out. And each time he tried it he got quicker and quicker at it. The last time he got out he ran so fast down the hall that I couldn't grab him and hold the door open so it locked behind me. Thank goodness one of the bigger kids was still in the room and let us back in.
At the fields the only part of the games he was interested in watching was his big brother hit the ball; anything before or after that he couldn't care less about. He rolled in the dirt, throwing handfuls and thinking it was great when the wind took it away. Rocks were airborne too. He ran up and down (and up and down and up and down) the path between the bleachers and the concession stand. I apologized to about a gazillion people because he either almost ran into them or almost tripped them. And whenever I stopped him from doing one of these toddler escapades, I was rewarded with "NO! NO! NO! TOP IT! TOP IT!" at high volume.
So it wasn't the 19 innings of baseball that exhausted me, or the temperature hitting 101, or even the endless trips from the room to the car to the room to the car. It was a small 30 pound bundle of energy and mischief that had me asking Siri where the nearest liquor store was.
And oh yeah, the boys had to go and play all good and stuff, so we have to drive back there for another game tomorrow.