in a handbasket

It's the first day of Stella's first March break and I was filled with good intentions. A big breakfast, a little fresh air and then who knew where the day would take us. Maple sugaring and a wagon ride through the forest. The Wizard extravaganza at the CNE. Dinosaurs at the ROM, with a bonus subway ride. The day was ours to discover. But first up: banana-filled French toast. Except the bread was deemed too "seedy" and "brown" and lest anyone ingest fiber willingly around here, I gave up early and a big old bowl of Frosted Flakes it was.

Next: a leisurely wagon ride to the library. Along the way we picked up a little friend. What should have been a 10 minute walk turned into an epic yet pleasant two hour exploration of every snowdrift along the way that was higher than six feet. There were many. The downside was ending up at the library completely shagged out (me) and sodden (them) and then having to lug a wagon filled with two kids and thirty pounds of picture books back home along unploughed sidewalks.

Home for a change of clothes, a spot of lunch and to chew over our next move. It's at this point that the day starts to unravel. We picked up a third friend post-lunch and before you can say "whatwereyouthinking" plans were made to take everyone out for the afternoon. There was mention of an early supper at McDonald's. Gleeful jumping. Cut to me attempting to install three car seats, something not previously attempted. Cue the sound of a screeching record as I discover my car does not have three seat belts. Just two. Oh the tears. And recriminations. A suggestion that someone ride in the trunk. Or someone stay home. It was not a good scene. Most of the roaring, of course, came from my kid. The other two were actually pretty gracious, readily bribed with an offer of a walk to the ice cream shop. Yet somehow on this blazingly beautiful day I ended up with a sofa full of kids watching The Road to El Dorado in my living room. I was able to block out the Elton John soundtrack and most of Rosie Perez' dialogue until I heard someone shout "How the hell do we get back to Spain?!," an odd line for a kid's movie, no? I'm no rube. I didn't hit rewind to make sure I heard correctly. I didn't draw any attention to it at all. But still, within seconds there was a trio of girls on my sofa giggling and chanting "how the hell do we get back to Spain?!" Man. If I don't turn this thing around I'm going to get a D in March Break.