A Grump

I didn’t feel like writing tonight. Instead, for some stupid reason, I felt mad. I felt like locking myself in my room so that I could complete a few sets of sit-ups without the three year old using me as a trampoline. I felt like arguing with the husband about whether or not it was silly of me to expect him to use his “daddy voice” when an overtired Atrain is beating up on me. I felt like throwing my first awesome, adventurous Texas day down the garbage chute so that I could avenge my misconstrued sense of self.

So, instead of writing about my first impressions of the lone star state; instead of explaining how much I loved listening to Atrain converse and tease and giggle while swimming with his CI on in the pool; instead of trying to describe how awesome it felt to cook for our completed family; instead of embellishing the day’s stories about how cute it is to watch Jdog’s crawling exercises, I’m just going to put that all on hold while I take a time-out for being a grump.

Regression

Today my world spun backwards. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fight the gravity of regressive forces sucking me into a deep, dirty, grumpy hole.

The ants came back. They crept into the pajamas I left on the floor when it was dark. When I awoke for my nightly writing routine I slipped them on and quickly gained new appreciate for the term “ants in my pants.” After our third attempt at extermination today I feel like either poison or dead pests are sticking to the bottom of my feet.

Little Atrain chose to poop in his pants. I caught him right as he stood in the doorway of the playroom, contemplating the act. I offered him any of the toys and treats in the potty box if he would just sit on the toilet for a few minutes. “No thank you,” he said. I told him I would buy him the biggest truck at the D.I. if he would just use the toilet like a big boy. “I want to be a baby,” he said. I threatened to take away his potty training toys. He went through the list of toys he owned that weren’t potty training toys and said, “That’s ok.” I begged him. He screamed, “I don’t want to!” I gave up. He pooped his pants.

After that incident I told the husband that I feel like I’m a horrible mom. He laughed at me. I wasn’t joking, so this wasn’t the reaction I was searching for. I nearly started spilling it all, trying to explain to him how frustrated I feel when I spend a half hour trying—unsuccessfully—to convince my kid to use the toilet; how guilty my conscious becomes when I wonder if my sweet little Jdog feels neglected as he watches all my attention focus on his balky big brother; and how much I hate that I can’t keep myself away from the delicious plate of brownies on the counter. But, then I realized that I would need an interpreter to relay such a load of motherly emotion to the husband. It’s not that he’s not supportive. It’s just that sometimes we speak in different languages, and I didn’t have the energy to interpret my feelings today. So, right after, “I just feel,” spilled over my lips, I stopped the dam from breaking and took the kids to the park to get some fresh air (and avoid the ant extermination fumes).

Sometimes days just don’t work the way you want them to. I want to teach my children to be good. I want to keep my house clean. I want to have dinner together at the table as a family without the TV—even if that dinner is pizza and the TV viewing is epic. And I don’t want to feel like the only one working on these things. But some days, sometimes, things don’t work the way you want them to. And that’s ok.

Tomorrow’s agenda: work hard, recover my sense of humor, and be ok with backwards.

My Hero

I tried to resume life as usual today after the weekend turned our world upside down. It was difficult to sleep without checking in on Atrain every other hour, listening to him breathe, hoping he wouldn’t wake up vomiting with his eyes spinning from right to left. When he finally arose and yelled, “mommy,” I brought Jdog into his room and curled into my boys on the bed. I savored how it felt to snuggle between them: Atrain gently played with my hair in one of his hands while squishing his brother’s cheeks with the other; Jdog flailed his arm back and forth against my clothing while he ate, pausing occasionally to smile at me, then diving back in for another helping. For a moment, I felt at peace.

As soon as we were up I rushed Atrain to school. After making some cookie dough for their Purim celebration this week I decided to run around the indoor track with Jdog and watch their class play on the playground through the one-way glass. I had nearly finished my run by the time they entered the play area. I stared at my son running to the gate, standing in line with his school-mates, listening to the teacher’s instructions, and then bounding out on the playground like any “normal” child. It was hard to believe that we were just in the ER this weekend. And it was hard to think that without any warning we could be there again tomorrow. Tears were creeping into my eyes as I replayed the weekend worries in my head. I couldn’t stop watching him. I reached for my phone to call the husband, but as soon as I picked it up, it rang. It was him.

He explained that he couldn’t start on his research until he burrowed through a few miles of bureaucratic red tape. I gave him my sympathy, but felt selfishly relieved inside. I could have him today. I needed him today. I picked him up. He came with me to the bank, picked Atrain up from school, and then we went on a family outing to McDonalds while the odor from our second round of bug spray dissipated from our apartment.

It was so good to have the husband near me, to admire our boys with him, to talk about plans with him and to wonder about life with him. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with him. Especially when life is a little off balance and I’m constantly teetering on the brink of tears. He keeps me centered. He dries my eyes before they begin crying. With Jdog in one arm and a plastic sword in the other, he saves me from scurvy pirate Atrain and any tick-tocking crocodiles lurking around these parts--especially when I am the crocodile. The husband is my hero.