One of those days…

Did you ever have one of those days you knew you shouldn’t get out of bed? Yesterday was one of those, but I did get out- pretty fast, too, as one is wont to do when their five year old is screaming “He’s outside! By Himself! MOMMY! COME QUICK!!!”

That’s right, my three year old went for a stroll next to the major road we live by…he got through two safety gates and a deadbolted door before his trusty sidekick called the Sheriff.

Once I caught up with him (he was still in the yard) I sat him on the steps and said sternly, “W, you cannot go out there by yourself.” Then Girly chimed in, “Yeah, occos you could get hit by a car, or a stranger could take you, or you could get dead and kill yourself and we would never see you again, never ever ever!” Well, I thought. At least SOMEBODY’S paying attention. Although I’ve never voacalized the dangers of the wide world to her, she has their number, all right.

So I took the little guys to school, where they remained until 12:30. When I picked them up, my little escape artist had a fever of 103. I couldn’t remember if we had any fever stuff or popsicles, so on the way home, I stopped at the store. Fever boy had fallen asleep, so I left the 13 year old in charge with the AC running and the doors locked. I don’t do that often, but if it comes down to taking a sick cranky kid into the store or leaving someone legally (12 in Maryland) allowed to stay in the car, I’ll do it.

When I came out, said 13 year old opened the door and started yelling, “I’m so sorry! It was an accident!” Since the car was still there, I couldn’t figure out the problem: until I saw the two foot by six inch crack in the windshield.

Ohhhh, yeah. “What happened?” I asked, striving for a neutral tone. I saw his face, as he struggled the eternal struggle of childhood- to lie or not to lie. Then, he capitulated, and all in a rush said,
“Iputmyfootonthedashboardeventhoughyousaidnottoandwhen
ItookitdownIkickeditbyaccidentanditbrokeandI’mreallysorry.”

I thought for a moment, took a breath and said, “Well, I know you’d never break the windshield on purpose. We’ll get it fixed, it’s no big deal.” SWEET, I thought. I didn’t yell, he told the truth and learned that when you tell the truth, people understand. Not so bad!

Then I called AAA and learned it would cost $250 to replace, and can’t be done until Monday. “I’ll help pay for it,” he said, as I stared beady eyed at him with the phone clutched to my ear.

“That’s OK,” I said grudgingly, feeling like Charlie Brown. After three weeks, the truth is, I miss our other grownup. As used to this as we all are, there comes a point in a tour when we hit a wall.

The rest of the afternoon proceeded in kind…I pulled a teeny rubber ball out of W’s mouth before he choked, pulled an electrical cord out of his mouth before he gnawed more than a quarter of the way through. Monitored squabbles involving shrieking and hair-pulling, wishing we could just all go to the pool and soak our cranky selves. But, with W’s fever, we were stuck.

Then, my parents brought over their aged, mildly incontinent arthritic dog to spend the weekend. I always say yes to this, because I love the dog and I love my parents, but I’ll admit on top of this day, I was feeling a little grinch-ish about the whole arrangement. As I pulled W down off the table for the 8th time and my mom informed me of the dog’s arthritis medicine regimen, I snapped.

“This is the LAST thing I needed,” I huffed. “I can BARELY keep my head above water alone with these three kids, I have to take J to sleepaway camp on Sunday, W escaped this morning and he’s sick, and I am LOSING MY…” Here I stopped, as, as nasty as one can be with one’s mother, one generally tries to avoid cursing.

“I know, sweetie, I know,” said my mom, (Who is a Saint, BTW) patting my shoulder. “It’s a lot to ask. We’ll get out of your way…” and they left, leaving me to feel like the bratty teenager I was just made a resurgence. “Sorry, Mom,” I said as they left, and she hugged me. “Don’t be,” she smiled, and patted my cheek.

An hour later, my phone rang, and she said, “We’re coming over with an extra lock for the door.” Before I could formulate a reply, the doorbell rang, and my parents stood on the doorstep with donuts and a Home Depot bag.

My Dad installed a latch that will surely put a crimp in my little Houdini’s style, while my mom and I and the kids ate donuts. I started about 8 times to try to say how grateful I was, but finally wound up catching my mom’s eye and saying, “Thanks.”
She smiled her beautiful smile and said, “You’re a good mom.”

Not so much yesterday, but at least I have someone to aspire to.:)

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