It never let up. The fit that started when he saw me only escalated and by 8:09, The Mr. and I had decided he shouldn't go to camp that day (his lunch was made and he was already in his swim clothes). He was, of course, furious with me (even though the Papa made the choice as well) and wailed about it for another ten minutes. Then he suddenly asked if he could please take off his swim clothes and have regular ones since he was staying with me.
After we dropped off Wednesday, who watched us both go with a quiveringly brave wittle face (sniff sniff), I took Winston with me to Walgreens. He helped me push the cart, picked out a snack, and remembered every single thing we needed to buy, as usual.
Once we were home and he had some serious allergy medicine in his system he relaxed completely. It used to be just be me and him at home, and I miss it so much that I cry almost every time I think about it. We used to play and read and just hang out ALL DAY, and he is so big now, so smart, so handsome. He is not my tiny boy anymore. But on Wednesday, we rescued a small sliver of our pre-brother relationship.
We lay on the bed in his room after I'd done something cleaning, looking at cookbooks and just being silly together. And after promising him for 3 weeks that we would go out to eat, just the two of us, we finally did. He was perfect in the restaurant, and we even went to Half-Price Books together. He sat on the floor and looked at books in his own little world, while I gathered nifty stories for us the bring home.
The rest of the day was fairly successful as well. There were a few behavior bumps when Wednesday was re-introduced into the picture, but it was an excellent and much needed day overall. Winston's snot is almost gone, his gremlin-like allergy voice has disappeared, and I know we loved each other a lotta-bit more.
Then Thursday came. Oh my, was it a day. My nickname as a child was "Grace" in the most sarcastic fashion imaginable and I lived up to it yesterday. I was horrible Thursday morning. I needed a serious timeout. A headache woke up with me, I hollered at the boys, I cried, I whined, I spilled, I choked on nothing to the point I almost got sick. It was rough. Wednesday was staying home with me, and after we dropped Winston off at camp, he proceeded to get into The Mr.'s desk 5749583405834 times, pester the cats until they scratched and bit him, and was otherwise clinging to me like a velcroed monkey.
We picked Winston up, naptime was crap until we all conked out, and when we got up I remembered I'd promised a meal made in the pressure cooker. Sigh... If that wasn't the perfect metaphor for our day I don't know what could have been.
Now, I'd never used that thing when my Mama wasn't here with us. I think she's used it 3 times for different holiday meals at my house. I found a recipe for chicken tacos, and after reading the directions 4 times and practicing opening and closing the lid, I started cooking. 5 minutes. Cooked chicken in 5 minutes, and it wasn't even scary! Did it taste like cardboard? Yup. Did everyone eat it? Yup. Will my MIL with a heart condition who doesn't like spicy food get all of our leftovers? Yes Ma'am. So it, like the rest of the day, was enough to get by, but not my best work by any means.
I was on my best behavior by bedtime, and stories were super fun and we all went to sleep feeling loved and peaceful after our long, long, LONG day.
This morning went extremely smoothly, and now I'm here by myself, regrouping and thinking and writing. There's a song I sing to the boys almost every night that asks God for love, and power, and grace, and that is what I ask for today. Love oozing from every pore, power over my own emotions, and grace enough to forgive myself and be the Mama I long to be.
1 comment:
I hear you, mama.
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