I decided to start an awesome, summer routine entitled “Walk with Mom.”

I figured one of three things could happen.

One—two of the girls would say “Yay! Walk with Mom! I don’t know what that is but it’s not school so count us in.

Two—two of the girls would say, “That sounds like a miserable, summer trick disguised as exercise and I get to go for a magical, guilt-free walk alone.

Three—all three girls say they want to join me and we make it as far as the first dog sighting.

Hanna and Ellie (the two oldest) jumped all over the idea of a summer walk with Mom (I’m sure because of the amazing and well thought out title).

I asked if they would like to bring a water bottle.

“No way! We want to do it just like you.”

I brought along a bottle just in case.

The girls spent a disproportionate amount of time selecting the perfect “Walk with Mom” wardrobe pieces, hair accessories and footwear before finally making it out the door.

“We want to walk forever! Can we run sometimes?”

Sure!

Three houses down the water bottle was empty. Bone dry. They had slurped up the liquid and sprayed their faces like they had finished the Ironman in record time. I hope we don’t get lost and need a drink. Empty. Three. Houses. Down.

There were four rolled ankles, one lengthy lay-down break on someone’s front lawn, twenty-seven stomach cramps, a pulled hamstring (that might have been me) and a lot of complaining.

My favourite was when we were inches away from our driveway and Ellie asked, “Wait, aren’t we stopping somewhere for ice cream?”

New title: Ice Cream with Mom.