Running Low

"I will put my underwear on, mom, I promise!" rants Atrain behind his closed bedroom door. And then--clunk--another heavy object (probably one of his cars) collides with the wooden barrier between he and I. "Why is it so hard to take that kid out of the bathtub," I wonder. Just moments before this he was giggling with defiance, running naked--and deaf--down our hall. I hate bath time. Nothing about motherhood makes me want to pull my hair out more than trying to force Atrain into clothing when he is silly, defiant, can't hear a thing that I say, and totally taking advantage of it.

It was the perfect ending to a perfectly frustrating day. Today was round two of Atrain's cochlear implant programming up north. It took me three hours to drop off baby J at Famous and Pance Farmstrong's home last night, and an early morning drive two hours north to the audiologist, five different attempts at cochlear programming games, three bribery pep talks and two walks around the building--just to sit there and watch Atrain implode while he exclaimed, "I don't want to!" Why, you ask? I believe the fact that baby J got to spend the night at the Farmstrong household was at the heart of it all. Atrain believed he should be there too, and there is no way to force a child to effectively participate in cochlear implant programming if they don't want to. The accuracy of a CI map can't hinge on the mood of a 3 year old--and yet, it must. So, we called it a loss, rescheduled, and drove another three hours to pick up baby J. When we finally arrived, Atrain was in heaven.

It's so hard to keep my head screwed tightly on my shoulders on days like today. Sometimes I feel like I have sticks of dynamite shoved down my throat, and my kids are having a ball lighting the wicks and watching momma attempt to keep the explosions contained within her. I remember seeing the look on my father's face whenever he was trying to disguise the chaos rumbling inside him--his eyes bulging with annoyed frustration, unable to look directly at our guilty little faces, using calm words, but occasionally pounding his fist against a wall, and always carrying lead feet as he walked away. Now I know why. I just wish I had a staircase to stomp up and down.

There were a couple of redeeming moments today that mended my muddled mind. On the way back from the appointment we stopped at "Old McDonalds" to get a happy meal, hoping to glean a little joy from its contents. It did not disappoint. The toy was a karate Power Ranger character that kept Atrain contently imagining battle scenes all the way to the Francypants household. The second, and most healing occurrence, was when we arrived to pick up Jdog. When he heard my voice from the other room he immediately started crying. I ran to him, scooped him out of his high chair where he was previously feasting on peaches, and held him against my chest as he pawed my hair and clasped onto my shoulders. He was so happy to see me.

That feeling filled my tank. Even now, as I listen to him whine (now clothed and in bed) about going to bed, I remember those chubby little arms squeezing my neck. Jdog sure loves me. It's all I have to call this day a success.