I'm {not} loving it

Some days I wish I had a ripcord. Or an option to take a blue or red pill. Or the ability to safe-surrender my four year old without getting arrested. If during the tensest of standoffs with Sawyer I was able to just remove myself from the situation, I'd probably be able to save myself a ton of anxiety and stress...and him a lot of money on adult therapy.

Case in point. Today, I thought I'd be an even more awesome mom than I already am and take the kids to McDonald's for lunch. But not just any McDonald's. No, I wasn't just going to force their tiny bodies to ingest pink slime after hitting up the drive-thru. I was going to take them to a McDonald's, dine there and it was a McDonald's with a Playplace. Yes. I said it. A Playplace. The worst invention ever and, in my opinion, the reason that there is flesh-eating bacteria on this planet. If I NEVER go back, it will be too soon.

Sawyer has been begging me to go to a McDonald's with a Playplace and I finally caved and decided today would be the day. Big mistake. Huge. Catastrophic.

Why!? Oh, because once we finished our pink slime-infused chicken nuggets, and the kids got to play at the Playplace and it was time to go, Sawyer decided he'd found his new happy place at the TOP of the Playplace tower and basically gave me the middle finger. Yes, that's right. Sawyer climbed to the top of the tower, sat down and told me to eff off. In so many words. He basically called BS on me and knew that there was no way in hell I was going to climb into the tiny tunnel ladder and crawl my ass up to the top of that tower and drag his ass down.

Let me just go on record here and say that if you could have seen the look on my face and if my face could talk without saying a word, here's what it would have said:

"Sawyer Colt, you climb your little ass down that tower now or, so help me God, you are going to spend the rest of your life in a full-body cast."

And here's where I really needed the ripcord/blue pill/whooo-za/deep breathing option...HE WOULDN'T EFFING COME DOWN. Swear.

So there I am. Gritting my teeth. Armpits sweating. Saxon Crying. Cursing. And the ENTIRE McDonald's Playplace area watching me.

In case I haven't set the scene well enough. Here's a glimpse into the conversation I was having with myself in my head.

Don't panic. He'll come down. Right!? He's not coming down. Panic. Fuck. Shit. I'm claustrophobic. Can I even fit in that tunnel ladder? I certainly can't fit in that tunnel ladder while I'm holding the baby. Who in the Playplace area is not a recently released convict that I can trust to hold the baby while I go fish Sawyer out of the tower. {looks around}. No one. Fuck. Shit. McDonald's with Playplaces should really serve wine just like California Adventure does at Disneyland. Shit. He's still up there.

"Sawyer, get DOWN here."

He's still not coming down. Fuck it. I'm leaving him here.

"Sawyer, I'm leaving."

{Screams}

"Rylan, go get your brother."

Rylan won't go. She's scared of the tunnel and flesh-eating bacteria too. Fuck.

And so it went. For about 20 minutes. I've now spent approximately19 minutes more than I've ever wanted to spend at a McDonald's Playplace. And now I'm certain that the B.O. I'm smelling is mine. It's a full-on stand off. Sawyer knows that if he comes down, his ass is such grass that it actually behooves him to stay up there.

He's going to boarding school. No. Worse. Military school. Actually, I wonder if they'd take him at Juvenile Hall. This is a crime, right!? Having a stand-off with your mother in the McDonald's Playplace tower has to be a crime, right!?

Sweaty. On the verge of tears and down one less child because I'd lost him to the grips of the McDonald's Playplace tower, I gave up. I had no fight left.

Much to my surprise, a sweet and wonderful 7-year old girl {whom I later volunteered to swap for Sawyer} said, "I'll go get him for you." Omg. I think she was actually wearing a halo. That girl crawled up to the top, showed Sawyer how fun it was to go down the slide and down he came. Right into the arms of an abusive mother. I could have killed him right then and there. Of course, I composed myself and we walked out like nothing had ever happened.

Whatever McDonald's Playplace. I own this shit. Same time next week? Done. Ok, maybe not that confident. But it went something like that.

Oh Sawyer. Bless your heart.

Snip Snip. Sniff Sniff?

Remember when you were dating your significant other and people would always ask, "when are you going to get engaged?" And then you got engaged and everyone said, "when are you going to get married?" And then after you got hitched, no sooner then sipping your first pina colada on the beach in Hawaii on your honeymoon, some random couple would ask, "when are you gonna start trying?" And then you ripped your hair out because you just wanted everyone to stfu and leave you alone? No? Just me? Oh...

Well, newsflash folks, the questions never end. And it never gets any less awkward. Because it's usually people who you don't know very well who think that they should be privy to your ovulation cycle. Ew. Weird.

So after we popped out #3, I thought maybe these strange encounters would start to slow. Guess what? They didn't and now random people are asking me if we're considering getting a vasectomy. "Um, no, well, ah. I, uh, haven't. but..." is usually all I can utter as I'm deciding what bunch of bananas looks the best in the produce section. Really!?

But now that we're rocking and rolling in the Beach house and we're officially out of the baby stage, I've actually started thinking about sending Eric in for the big snip snip. I know, sad. We both agree that three is enough but aren't sure if we need to "make it official." And because we've both teetered back and forth about making the big decision, I thought I'd share with you my list of positives and negatives:. Here she goes.

Positives {pro-snipping} because a "surprise" would...:
- Another baby would put me over the edge. No, seriously, I swear. Like Thelma-and-Louise-style. Off the cliff.
-We've run out of bedrooms. Another baby would have to sleep in our room. And you know my feelings on co-sleeping.
- 4 kids is like two steps away from joining the ranks of the Duggars. We'd have to have a reality show.
- I would have to trade my Denali in for a school bus. Or one of those Mercedes van/bus things. Oh, wait. Mercedes? Maybe this one switches to the negatives column.
- No more pill-popping pour moi. I recently read that one of my facebook friends got preggers on birth control. She said that this happens to about 1% of women. OMG. I started to sweat.
-Grandma Sue Sue won't babysit 4 kids. Remember, I'm an only child. 2 was challenging. She watches 3 because, well, she can't say no. 4 is deal-breaker which means we definitely can't have another baby...until Rylan is old enough to babysit for long weekends. So, what's that, like 2 years?
-College. Putting 4 kids through college is craaa-zy. And since Eric is buying me that Birkin bag for our 10th wedding anniversary, Rylan already has to graduate in 3 years {I chose Ry's college fund because I figured, as a girl, she'd understand the need to sacrifice education for fashion.}

Negatives {leave the goods alone and pray}:
- Our kids are rad. Seriously. I don't even really like kids. But ours are awesome. 1 more would just be contributing to the awesome-ness we've already created. Yeah, I said it.
- I could maybe talk Eric in to getting the Bugaboo Donkey if we got knocked up with #4
- I would have to listen to Eric complain about having surgery on his manhood. Oh geezus.
- I would keep taking the pill and live in fear of the 1%
-What if I died and Eric got remarried and that chick decided that she wanted to have a litter of Beaches too? Ha. Good luck chick.
     *While, I'm at it. Here's my letter to Eric's new wife in the event that I die. Can one of you please direct her here? K, Thanks. Here goes.
     Dear Mrs. Beach: I just wanted to let you know that in the event you think you'd like to go for one kid of your own, I wanted to let you know in advance that the child will not look like you. The Beach DNA is no-joke. Seriously, look at my kids. They didn't even get my eyelashes. You will, in fact, just be contributing to Eric's ego and adding one more mini-Eric to the universe. I hope they get your brains and handyman capabilities. Think about it. xo, L

I hope this clears things up. For now, here's to really good birth control.