March 31, 2008

about last night

10:30 pm

Stumble to bed; fall immediately into deep coma-like sleep.

11:00 pm

Child crying hysterically. Stumble to child’s bedroom to find husband soothing child. Stand next to child’s bed and ask, “Who is crying?!?” At husband’s suggestion, go downstairs to get Tylenol for child. Stumble around kitchen bumping into things and muttering about the CRYING and the SLEEP and OH MY GOD IT IS SO LATE. Come back with Tylenol to find child sound asleep and husband on way back to bed.

12:30 am

Thunder, lightning, and hail smashing into the roof. Get up, find glasses, and go down to foyer to see how bad it is. Hail is the size of golf balls. Hope the roof makes it. Go back to bed.

2:00 am

Tornado sirens. Husband is wandering in circles muttering about the hail and the television and the sirens. Ask, “Should we get the kids up?” Husband says he will look at the weather and starts to go down stairs in his underwear. Suggest that he might want to put some pants on since the neighbors will ALSO be up and it is possible that you may all have to leave the house. You know when the tornado comes and takes the roof off.

Tornado is close to the house, maybe, as much as anyone can guess in the dark. Sirens still going off. Wake the kids. Child husband fetches comes peacefully and sleepily; other child has a screaming tantrum and refuses to leave his bed. Think seriously about leaving him there; decide against it. Drag him down the stairs by his arms, hoping that you both don’t fall on the tile floor and die. Wonder if that would be so bad, really, at this point.

Pile into the bathroom with the children; husband has covered the floor in towels because there isn’t time to wipe every single surface with a Chlorox wipe (twice). Screaming child decides he needs to pee, with everyone in the bathroom, while continuing to complain loudly about being awakened in the middle of the night. Again consider that death might be the best option. For everyone.

2:30 am-ish

Sirens off; tornado gone. Put kids back to bed and lay down with agitated child who wraps his arms tightly around your neck, cutting off any possibility of breathing deeply or really at all. Will self NOT to fall asleep in child’s bed. Sneak out when child goes to sleep, leaving him with his glasses on. Because at this point who the hell cares.

5:01 am

Alarm goes off. Commence swearing. Spend the day telling people about the craziness of the previous night, only to have them say OH MY GOD THAT IS CRAZY. Continue to wish for death. Or coffee. Or, by two pm, a martini.

8:10 pm

Hit publish; go to bed; the end.

March 27, 2008

all’s right with the world

Here’s the thing about kids like Henry: they have moments where they are struggling just to exist in the world, and then they take a deep breath and they move on and are happy and peaceful and perfect again.

Of course, their mamas are still lying on the floor in a puddle of guilt and angst and sadness, but whatever.

Over the weekend, my friend Mir had a Very Long Day with her son; when we talked on Monday, she said that while Monkey had bounced right back, she had laid awake most of the night on Saturday, just recovering and thinking and being the mama.

When I asked how she was, I believe her exact words were, “I am very tired.”

(more…)

March 26, 2008

you don’t understand

I don’t even know where to start.

This morning we did our usual: get up, eat breakfast, get dressed. I made the beds and congratulated the kids on getting themselves ready with time to spare. Henry and I talked about what he was taking in the car and how he had his book right there by the door and was ready to go.

I was a little preoccupied with some work things, but the kids seemed to be moving through the morning just fine.

Or not.

When it was time to actually LEAVE the house, after Wade had driven away, everything fell apart. Henry decided that he needed to buy something from the school store but he couldn’t get his safe open to get his money out and he started to cry and yell because he was frustrated. Then he couldn’t find his book, the one that had been right next to the door ten minutes earlier, and so he cried MORE and yelled louder.

I was trying not to yell or threaten; I was trying to be rational and calm. I don’t think I was succeeding.

When Henry has a tantrum (do you still call it that when you’re talking about a kid who is nearly eight years old?) he is completely irrational. He will fixate on one small thing and scream and yell and fight, like toddlers do when you tell them that no, they cannot play with that steak knife. But because he is not a toddler, he rants and raves about how we are all going to DIE if he does not get his way and he is DOOMED and I am MEAN and do not CARE.

I’m not mean, but usually in these moments I am angry and frustrated. And very sad.

(more…)