It’s one of those instances where I wonder what I was thinking. Where I could hear the words coming from my mouth but couldn’t stop them. I even knew they were about to fly out of my mouth. And my little pea brain pleaded with my tongue “don’t say it,” but that sassy ol’ tongue did just what it wanted to because, well, who knows why.
Maybe I felt powerful making the threat.
Maybe I was desperate.
Maybe I’m just dumb.
Moving right along…
There is an hour every day in which I nearly (or completely, depending on the day), lose my mind. The same hour every.single.day.
The five o’clock hour. The hour I lovingly refer to as “wine o’clock.” Because seriously, the wine helps take the edge off. And it’s a rough edge.
Yesterday was no exception. It was about 5:30 when the madness began. Picture this…
A fussy 19 month old baby. Loudly fussy. Wedging herself between me and the stove while I’m trying to cook. And then crying when I keep right about my business and don’t pick her up. Did I mention she was loud?
And an eight year old daughter, who, God love her, is as easily distractable as her mother. How many times did I ask her to get her sweatshirt off the island and put her homework away? Three? Four?
Henry, sitting at the island, writing a thank you note for a birthday gift he received. Chattering away to me.
And William that had been playing with the DS for an hour. Quietly. Just having fun playing. Why didn’t I just leave him alone? Why?
“William, time to put the DS away now.” I had given him fair warning about 20 minutes earlier. One more game I said. I’m sure he’d played about 5 since that warning. But you know, the cooking and the screaming baby and the thank you note and the sweatshirt-nagging all got in the way of my enforcing the one-more-game rule.
“I’m just gonna finish this game.” He says.
“No, put it away now. You have finished your one game five times over already.”
So I walk over and warn him to turn it off or I will.
He did not.
So I did.
Let’s just skip all the rest of the pleasantries that followed. William was, at this point, upstairs in his room, which happens to be right above the kitchen. And let’s just say it wasn’t by his own choosing that he was up there. You would think that would be one less distraction for me, right? But no.
Because what William does when he is in his room is yell down, at perfectly even intervals, “Mom, when can I come out.” And I don’t mean like every ten minutes. I mean like every 5 seconds, literally. Over and over and over and over. And you can ignore it only for a while.
So what did I do? I told him to close his door. I didn’t want to hear from him again. To go back in his room. Etc. And then I did it.
“If I hear another word out of your mouth, you will not go to that party tomorrow.” (And it is going to be a fun party, people. Full of friends, and moonbounces and pizza and cake.)
“Okay! You just heard another word!” he yelled down to me.
Oh yes he did say it. Those exact words.
So there will be no party today, for him. But his siblings will be going. Which could result in another entire post, so stay tuned.
(Sigh) If you know William, you know this is just him being frustrated. And not knowing how to deal with his frustration.
Or maybe he was hungry. He’s cranky when he’s hungry.
This is a little boy that has a fuse as short as his mother’s. He’s a little spark plug.
But he is such a tender-hearted little boy, too. He is the most tender of the four of them. And this morning, he was that tender sweet boy.
“Hi Mommy!” he said in his soft, raspy voice when he woke up. I came over and he snuggled into me and his little bedhead smelled of lavender shampoo.
And later, stepping onto the school bus, he turned around and waved to me…he never does that.
I know you’re thinking he’s trying to sucker me into letting him go to the party. He’s not that way. He has either accepted it, or he has forgotten. I guess I’ll find out which later today.
Either way, it doesn’t feel good. But it is the right thing…right?