Only one week and six days of summer left. My heart is no longer broken. In fact, after yesterday, my heart is rejoicing, exulting, jumping like a one-legged frog on hot pavement at the prospect of time apart from my endearingly aggravating sons.
Yesterday? They sucked.
To be fair, we’ve been out late almost every night since Friday. We went to IKEA three days in a row thanks to a comedy of errors not funny enough to recount. Then The Mister’s cousin from Colorado decided to drop in on Monday and we stayed up late at my in-laws to visit. Tuesday I made dinner for friends recovering from surgery, so we had dinner at their house. All in all, we haven’t been home before 9:00pm-10:00pm for four nights in a row. So, yes, to be fair, they are over-tired and could use at least a couple of days without errands or obligations.
Guess what? Not in the mood to be fair!
So, I still say they sucked.
Yesterday Nicholas cried. He cried because he had to go to the bathroom but didn’t want to stop playing dinosaurs to go to the bathroom. He cried because he was hungry. He cried because he was thirsty. He cried when he fell off the stool he climbed while trying to grab the flashlight I told him was off limits. He cried when he had to brush his teeth. He cried because he couldn’t find his tan shoes. Or his blue ones. Then his blue shoes hurt, but really it’s because he hurt his ankle when he fell off the stool. He even cried as we drove away from the book drop at the library, his face red and wet as he cried out, “I’ll miss you, dinosaur books!”
You know who didn’t cry? Me. I stared straight ahead at the windshield. Okay, maybe one time I turned around in my seat and said, “Seriously? Are you kidding me with the crying?” But other than that, I stewed and wished my eyelashes weren’t one of my best features. Otherwise, I would have plucked them out one by one just for the distraction.
Mikey? Not an angel. He wasn’t a Nicholas Sparks wet handkerchief like his brother, but who has the time? He was too busy spilling cereal on the floor or “forgetting” to put on his shoes (three times). Actually, he was very well behaved and helpful the last couple of weeks, especially at the dentist on Tuesday. That’s why I caved and let him have one of those little megaphone things they sell at Borders. They’re the kind that garble your voice and make it sound electronic, but at high decibels. I told him I would buy it for him on the condition he didn’t talk through it nonstop. Sure, he talked through it nonstop.
It was a compulsion for him. Not a thought went through his head that he didn’t share via the megaphone. The sound of his voice fascinated him. Stares, warnings, threats–nothing worked to convey my theory of moderation. Finally I had enough and said (loudly), “Mikey, I’m not kidding. You talk through that megaphone thing one more time and I’m tossing it into the fountain.”
(We were standing next to a fountain.)
And that’s when he put his lips to the megaphone and said, “Copy that, Mom.”
I didn’t toss it into the fountain. Instead, I took a deep breath, opened up my copy of Artful Blogging, and sat on a bench while they tossed pennies into the water. I was only interrupted by pleas for more money 32 times. It was very restful.
Hah! Hah hah!
The rest of the day went like this:
- I made cookies.
- Something happened, and they sucked.
- We went thrifting.
- I burned dinner.
- We ate at El Torito.
- I don’t really like El Torito.
- Nico cried.
They’re lucky they’re cute.
I don’t write any of this for sympathy. My story is the same story as every other mom with young children. On the contrary, days like these, where I am angry, spent, frazzled, tired, overwhelmed, frustrated, and completely convinced of my ineptitude as a mother, are some of my favorite days to relive in words because they are so full of life and emotion. These are the days that will shape-shift in my mind (like a triceratops!) until they become the memories I cherish most. These are the days I will look back on and laugh. These are the days I will one day realize were awesome.
But it doesn’t hurt that they’re cute.