"Mommy, what are they talking about?"
"They're talking about Martin Luther King, Jr."
"Why're they talking about Madrinufer King?"
"Because we're celebrating his birthday."
"But he isn't here yet!"
"That's true, baby. We're just celebrating his birthday because he was a good man. He won't be here. He isn't alive anymore."
"Why?"
"Because some people were scared of what he said, so they shot him."
"What did he say?"
"He said we should all be nice to each other, no matter what we look like."
Long pause from the boy
"Do you think we should be nice to each other, no matter what we look like?"
"Yes. But, Mommy, why were they scared? Why did they shot him?"
"Why did they shoot him?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know baby."
"I don't know, either."
***
Bless
me, friends, for I have sinned. Today I failed as a mother. The good
thing about being a mother is that you always have a chance to keep
trying, to make up your failures. The bad thing is that each new chance
to try is another chance to fail miserably.
Goddess, save me from myself.
What
did I do? You may ask yourself. Nothing so terrible, at least, not on
the face of it. See, I was going out to run a few errands. I'm sick,
and I'm night weaning Charlotte, and both those things together mean I'm
not fully on top of my usual game. I didn't get coffee at home this
morning, so I decided to stop by Dunkin Donuts and get some. And while I
was there I thought it would be a nice treat to get the kids some
munchkins.
Big mistake.
See, normally
the kids get up around 7 with Waxor, and eat a little something. But
with the night weaning, and the night wakings that has incurred, they
aren't doing that anymore. We all get up together, between 8 and 8:30.
Which would be great, except sometimes I forget they haven't had any
protein, and just go ahead and give them donuts, thus pretty much
ruining my entire frikken day.
It started, I guess, with Elliot. But it's not like
I can really blame him. I put the gun right in his hand. See, I got
munchkins, and I went ahead and got a whole pack, figuring that would be
plenty for Elliot, Charlotte, the few I'd eat, and leave some leftover
for Zanne and Jocelyn, who were running errands with us.
But that meant I had a big box of donut holes in the front seat.
And my son, who is NOT DUMB, knew it.
"Mommy, can I have another?"
"You've already had five, Elliot, and five is how many I told you that you could have."
"But, Mommy, can I have another?"
"No, Elliot."
At this point, Charlotte speaks up.
"Morah, Mama, morah duh-nuh."
Alas,
the tangled webs we weave when attempting to be fair. You see,
Charlotte had only had TWO munchkins. So, like a FOOL, I say to here
"Here, Charlotte."
Chaos. Dismay. Horror. Utter indignation.
"Elliot, you have had FIVE. Charlotte has had TWO. Which is more, two or five?"
"Five" comes the sullen response.
"So Charlotte gets to have a few more, because you both get to have the same number."
For
anyone who was paying attention, you'll realize that Charlotte had
three more to go, and, as you may have guessed, EACH TIME she got a new
one there was yelling from the boy.
To compound my guilt, I also unintentionally put
Zanne in the same situation, because Joceyln, who is ALSO not dumb,
wanted to help herself liberally to the munchkin box as well, so once
she had her alloted number there was slight unhappiness from that
corner.
Is that all? No, no it is not.
See, then we went to Joann's, and for one of the first times ever I let the kids run around out of the cart.
Do you know what Joann's stocks? About a billion and one things that small people want to grab and throw on the floor.
It also, apparently, stocks older women who start
chatting with you and will NOT be quiet and go AWAY, even when you are
clearly losing track of your children while simultaneously getting
NOTHING done. And here is where I made my second mistake of the day.
In my desire not to offend a complete and total stranger, I stopped
being fair to my kids. After all, _I_ fed them the damned donuts. _I_
made the decision to go to the infinitely fascinating craft store. And
_I_ let them run around outside the cart. So why did I attempt to reply
politely to the crazy old lady who was giving me child rearing advice,
instead of attempting to deal politely with my insane, sugar riddled
children? i don't know. But I used up all my patience on the old lady,
and then had none left.
Which made it even more ridiculous that I went ahead
and made mistake number three; attempting to go to yet another store
instead of just going home.
I tried. I really
did. I put them both in the cart while in AC Moore, and I told them I
would drive it like a race car if they would hold on. I made vroom
noises. I tried to interest them in the beads in the jewelry aisle.
But it was too much, and I should have started being entertaining
(instead of grouchy) long before if I really wanted any chance of
keeping things happy. So all I got was a cart full of children trying
to alternately sit on each other and push each other over the side.
We left. On the way out the door Elliot noticed the
lollypops, and started asking for one. Relatively politely, I will
admit, but I still told him no. That he'd had enough donuts and he
wasn't getting any more sugar until he ate some protein.
OMMFG.
While walking to the
car he cried, telling me he wanted a lollypop. While buckling in he
wailed, proclaiming his need for a lollypop, and his lack of interest in
protein of any kind. While driving home he shrieked, attempting to
burst my eardrums with his pent up lollypop longing.
Finally he announced that he would eat some salami, first, for protein.
You know what we don't have any of in the house at the moment?
Did you guess Salami? You did? You get a prize.
So, while I tried to get Charlotte inside, and get
her coat off, Elliot stood outside on the stairs and wept. While I I
took my own coat off and opened the packages we'd gotten in the mail, he
yelled. And while I double checked the internet order and discovered,
yes, they HAD sent us the wrong item, he began screaming bloody murder
at the top of his inhumanly strong little lungs.
Which is when I went out, snatched him up, and threw him in time out.
This
story goes on. It gets worse. There's the part where I finally got
both of them to agree to eat hot dogs, and when I got them hot dogs
Charlotte threw hers on the floor. There's the part where Elliot
insisted I had to apologize to them both for being angry, and refused to
take a bite of his food until I did so (which led me to hotly declare
that that was fine, he could just STARVE.) There's the part where I
utterly lost control of myself, shrieked right back at Elliot, included
Charlotte in the tirade, and then locked myself in the bathroom while
wordlessly wailing my misery, leaving the children to join me in a
macabre harmony from outside the bathroom door.
It's been a bad day.
***
My
cousin MJ sent me an article about motherhood. All mothers (or future
mothers, or fathers, for that matter, let's not be gender biased) should
read it, as it's pretty good.
***
Alright. I realize this email is baby
heavy. I realize that it's also been less than chipper. What can I
say, some times, it's just like that. I shall leave you with my new
parody song, and begin afresh, trying to have a happier email next time.
AHem...
On the first night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
An hour and a half awake.
On the second night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the third night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Three wrenched covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the fourth night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Four flailing limbs
Three wrench covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the fifth night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
FIVE DISDAINED PACIFIERS!
Four flailing limbs
Three wrenched covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the sixth night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Six mournful glances
FIVE DISDAINED PACIFIERS!
Four flailing limbs
Three wrenched covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the seventh night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Seven pitched fits
Six mournful glances
FIVE DISDAINED PACIFIERS!
Four flailing limbs
Three wrenched covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the eighth night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Eight shrieking screams
Seven pitched fits
Six mournful glances
FIVE DISDAINED PACIFIERS!
Four flailing limbs
Three wrenched covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the ninth night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Nine drowsy nods
Eight shrieking screams
Seven pitched fits
Six mournful glances
FIVE DISDAINED PACIFIERS!
Four flailing limbs
Three wrenched covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the tenth night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Ten minutes peace
Nine drowsy nods
Eight shrieking screams
Seven pitched fits
Six mournful glances
FIVE DISDAINED PACIFIERS!
Four flailing limbs
Three wrenched covers
Two crying jags
And an hour and a half awake.
On the eleventh night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Eleven times the anguish
No minutes peace
No drowsy nods
A billion shrieking screams
Eternal pitched fits
Nothing but mournful glances
ALL THE DISDAINED PACIFIERS!
Every flailing limbs
Lots of wrenched covers
Non-stop crying jags
And a whole damn night awake.
On the twelfth night of weaning my daughter gave to me...
Twelve hours sleep.
Shhhhhhh...
And on that note... bye, y'all!
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