Picnic

It took me seventy minutes to actually get out of bed this morning, fifteen minutes to get dressed for exercising, and at least five minutes to decide what to eat for breakfast.

OLDER SISTER: Hey Awkward Mormon Girl, Mom told me to invite you to a picnic at Baby Brother’s school.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Picnic?

Within twenty minutes, I had eaten breakfast, brushed my teeth, dressed, done my hair and assembled all necessary things.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Picnic!

I drove to the school and excitedly found Baby Brother’s classroom.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: PICNIC!

Mom and I ended up helping this lady run the parachute station. But Mom and the lady didn’t even want to crawl under the parachute pretending to be sharks. What’s up with that?

After a while, I realized that they had things well in hand. I was growing bored, and they didn’t really need me, sooo…

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Sooo… I’m gonna go find Baby Brother!

Baby Brother was glad to see me. I played stick pull with him and his classmates. Then I sat with them while they churned butter and made sure all the kids got a turn and sang a butter-churning song with them.

Then it was snack time.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Snack time!

And then singing time.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Singing time!

Then lunchtime.

MOM: We don’t actually get any food.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Wha-wha-whaaaaat?

MOM: This picnic is for the kids.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Well, yeah, but when Older Sister said I was invited to the picnic I kind of assumed we all got to participate in the actual picnic part.

Cue an identity crisis.

ME: Awkward Mormon Girl. Of course you don’t get to picnic. You’re not a child anymore.

ALSO ME: I know, but-

ME: These children are not your peers.

ALSO ME: Then who here is my peer?

ME: Those women over there.

ALSO ME: You mean those thirty- and forty-something-year-old mothers who won’t even crawl under parachutes pretending to be sharks are my peers?

ME: Yes.

ALSO ME: ...I just died a little inside.