Whew! I am two days in to my husband’s business trip and started the day exhausted. After Jasper’s soccer practice last night I managed to get both boys fed, bathed and in to bed. Jasper came downstairs at 8:15 saying he was hungry, so I gave him a bowl of cereal. He was very chatty while he was eating and finally went to bed at 8:45. At 1:30am Hugo woke up after a nightmare and was so afraid of the dark that he wouldn’t let me leave his room. Even after I put on an extra light and the hall light, he still held on to me with a death grip. I eventually climbed in to his toddler bed converted from a crib with him and tried to sleep, squished together with my son in a little ball. He was very wakeful, and every time I tried to soothe him and leave the room, he held on to me with renewed vigor. I’m sure I was being manipulated, a bit, but he has developed a genuine fear of the dark and monsters lately. After an hour or so I was able to return to my own bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I think I feel asleep around 3:30. Then, what felt like mere seconds later, Jasper bound in to my room at 6am and said, “hi mommy, I’m awake!”
I have been exhausted all day. It’s days like this that take on a surreal haze. I start out the day without the energy to accomplish all I need to do. I also start out the day irritable and over-sensitive. It is such a hideous combination. And on days like this all the demands made of me just seem to jump up and scream. This is not helped by the fact that the ones doing the demanding, my kids, are actually sometimes screaming. I also noticed today that my five-year old has not yet outgrown whining and my 2.5 year-old has fully begun whining. I read somewhere that children up until they are school age make an average of three requests of their parents per minute. At the time I thought to myself that that couldn’t be right, but on days like this I realize that the claim is probably spot-on.
Just take meal time. I first give the boys a choice of food and then fix their plates. By the time I get their drinks, they are requesting more of a certain food, and then expressing disgust at the presence of another food on their plates. I get more of the requested food and scold the rude expression of disgust, only to see Jasper tip over his glass of milk with his elbow. I clean up the milk while trying to answer Hugo’s constant stream of questions, “why are the candles not lighted? Can we light the candles? I want more milk (and after prodding) I want more milk please? What is this? Why are you not eating, mommy? What Jasper is doing? Why the milk spilled?” While Hugo is questioning me, Jasper is also talking, “When I spilled the milk, it was an accident, mommy. How big is a 32nd of an inch? Can you see it? How many 32nds of an inch are in an inch? Can you get the tape measure?” When they take a break from talking to me they hurl insults at each other along the lines of “Hugo is a butt.” “Jasper is a stinky butt.” Then they ask for more to drink and when they receive their drinks, one of them inevitably requests an ice cube. During all this there is a constant stream of words coming from my mouth too, “how do you ask for that politely? Don’t talk with your mouth full. There are 32 32nds in an inch. Hugo, we are not lighting candles now, we can light them later. I do not want you calling each other butt, the next person who says it gets a time out. Yes, you may have more milk. Watch out, you are about to knock your plate off the table.” At this point I take a few hurried bites of my food, realize I have no appetite left, and start to clean up dishes.
On days like these I become painfully aware of the indignities we mothers suffer in our day-to-day lives. I got a wonderful and relaxing break this morning when a friend offered to take Hugo for a while when Jasper was in preschool. I went for a run and made a few phone calls and enjoyed the delicious sense of just doing what I wanted and needed to do, and then went to get Hugo. He made it immediately clear that he would prefer to stay at his friends house by coming over and kicking me repeatedly in the leg. I knew I was not alone when another friend came to pick up her toddler son at this same friend’s house and he threw a kicking and screaming tantrum as she carried him out of there. I grit my teeth as I tell Hugo that kicking is not acceptable and tell him in a stern voice that if he does it again we will not make playdough later. I have him look me in the eye and apologize. And we leave, and I know this is not the last time he will kick me in the leg.
Once I recovered from the morning and had Hugo take a nap, I decided to take the boys for a walk and treat them to some ice cream. What should be a pleasant little outing can never be simple. We make it to the ice cream store without too much incidence, and even stop along the way to admire birds, flowers, and to try to figure out what some trees are the by the shape of the leaves. Jasper and Hugo have some cute brotherly moments with Jasper teaching Hugo about different plants we are seeing, and Hugo looking admiringly at his big brother. When we get to the ice cream place we have an unusually long wait and the boys express their impatience by antagonizing each other. After some admonishing looks from me they head out in to the sunshine to eat their cones. Jasper practically inhales his before any ice cream has a chance to melt, but the day is very warm and Hugo’s ice cream melts at an alarming rate. During the short time it took me to get some extra napkins, his ice cream has melted down his arms, all over his legs and shorts and he is weeping, not knowing what to do about all the drips. I clean him up, help him lick the drips and show him how to prevent all the rest of the ice cream from melting on him, gratefully accept wipes from a friend and try to clean him up more, to no avail. He is miserable. The cone was a bad idea. I offer to trade–my ice cream in a cup for his cone. But no, he wants his chocolate. I think quickly and dump the contents of his cone on top of the ice cream in my cup. He is happy and eats this, almost as quicky as his big brother finished his cone. After a few speedy bites, there is none left. He ate the rest of his ice cream and all of mine. I drink the last few drops and throw the cup away. I look at Hugo. He is covered, clothes and skin, from head to foot, in a brown film of ice cream.
The day winds down and we return home. We have an evening meal together about as relaxing as the one I described earlier in the day. Somewhere around the 100th request made of me during the meal I snap and turn into a screaming banshee. “Can’t you see I am busy? That I am already getting you things? You may only ask for one thing at a time! You need to give me a break!” Bed time can’t come soon enough. Jasper looks at me with an uncharactertistic expression of empathy and comes over to me and gives me a hug. “I love mommy” he says. And so, I find the strength to make it through the one last hurdle of the bath. We read a story, just one, as Hugo has lost the priviledge. They climb on me and give me kisses and hugs, and then hug and kiss each other. I tuck them in to bed. After they fall asleep I go in to adjust their covers and marvel at how perfectly angelic sleeping children look. I look forward to sleeping myself and wish for a good night and a little more energy and patience to get through the day tomorrow.
