Discombobulated

Why do I feel like I am always that mother, the mother with the kids that won't listen, who is dropping things and dragging along a screaming child, while my sunglasses invariably keep sliding off of my head onto the ground. Only when I bend to pick them up things drop out of my bag and I lose my grip on my kid and they go tearing away and I have to throw everything on the ground to chase after them while they scream & cry & yell and hit at me? This was me tonight at T-ball. The game was at a new field, in a town half an hour away (away games for T-ball??? Seriously.) Abbey slept all the way there and had to be woken up when we arrived, then to get to the field you had to walk directly PAST a playground. No, pretty much through a fabulous playground with one of those great merry-go-round things. You know the ones that you sit or stand in while holding on to the bars while one kids runs pell mell in a circle pulling it and the force almost shoots you right off? Of course Abbey wanted to go to the playground, not to keep walking 200 more feet to the field for the game. And of course Jack just ran on ahead with his team, taking the field while I had his glove, and a giant bag of crap. THIS is when the whole crying/dropping/yelling/screaming fit occurred. I finally dragged Abbey over to the field but the whining continued, so much so that when a father with a little girl Abbey's age (who I really don't know that well, except for T-ball chatting) started off to the playground with her I begged him to take my daughter with him. Please . . . . I probably shouldn't ask, but please take my kid. He did, he must have seen the weariness in my eyes.