Walking Trial

I stare at my screaming two year old as he dramatically throws himself onto the pavement of our neighborhood walking trail, in a fit like the world has never known.  I take that back, every mother alive has seen one of these at one time or another.  My son's face reddens and his bottom lip quivers uncontrollably in an attempt to lay on as much guilt as possible.  His look says it all.  I am the worst mother in the world.  Why won't I just pick him up?  That is what I presume he is thinking.  My thoughts are the opposite.  I hear them slip from my mouth as I say, "You have legs, use them!"  My back is already aching from carrying him most of the way to the playground and I didn't bother bringing a stroller because he always insists on walking.  We stubbornly stare at each other until I finally give in fifteen minutes later.  I feel like an idiot for having a battle of wills with a two year old, especially since I lost.   I scoop him up, annoyed that I will now have to carry him the rest of the way home.  As he settles into my arms I discover his diaper is leaking.  Of course I didn't bring any supplies, because our walk usually only lasts thirty minutes.  I look at the time, 3:45pm.  We have been going for an hour and we are only halfway home.  At this point I am furious.  My two older sons drag their feet behind me as I cradle my toddler in a position that I hope will keep his bodily fluids away from my clothes.  No such luck.  This is going to be a fun walk home.  Today has been the first nice day since we returned from Colorado, so I thought it would be great to walk down to the playground for the afternoon.  Now all three boys are crying as I throw out threats of banning playgrounds for the rest of their existence if they don't pick up the pace.  Faces appear in the neighbors' windows.  I grimace as I try to calm the boys.  My arms are aching from the strain of carrying the extra twenty seven pounds of dead weight as my slow steady movement rocks my child to sleep.  He is obviously exhausted from the lack of exercise.  I try to nudge my boys along.  What I wouldn't give for two extra hands.  At least then I could drag them behind.  In all fairness, they each have their excuses for being so slow.  One has an extra thirty pounds to carry from his very absorbent pull-up (I know what you are thinking, but I swear both boys had dry pants when we left), and the other is claiming to have a broken butt.  The house is in view and, if my arms don't give out, we have all made it alive.  I am tempted to return to the trail later tonight with a sharpie marker so the sign will read "Walking Trail Trial".  I feel this would be more accurate.  I have learned a very valuable lesson from all this.  Never leave home without a double stroller, a package of diapers, enough pants to clothe a third world country, and two or three full course meals, because at our speed we were in danger of needing to spend the night on the trail.