I wrote this last night, but didn’t have the energy to type it out after the day was over…
We are at the boys’ football practice, but Henry is sick today so he cannot practice with the team. Actually, Henry stayed home “sick” today, so he is not permitted to play football. I do not believe Henry to be sick. I do believe his tummy may have hurt, but not because he was sick. Therefore, I did not ooze tender loving care on little Henry today. No, I plopped him in bed and told him to stay there. When he was hungry, I gave him dry toast (yes I did–wouldn’t want to upset the tummy any further…). Then he had some applesauce and more dry toast and a banana and some hot tea for lunch. I made him a broth for a snack (ick). Poor kid. I looked him in the eyes, and asked him what was bothering him. He told me that a boy in his class hits him sometimes. Swell. I don’t know if that is what is bothering him (he didn’t seem terribly upset over it), but I do think that there is something troubling him.
When the kids came home from school, we went to the orthodontist. I was terribly organized and knew that we would have to go straight to football so I told William to change into his football clothes and to bring his cleats along to change into later. So he did. It was only when we got to the ortho that I noticed the mud all over his sweatpants. And also all the holes. Swell. Clearly, we like to make a good impression when we go out.
On our way to football, as William was putting on his cleats, he realized that he had one of his own cleats, and one of Henry’s (which is too small), so we had to go back to the house for his other shoe. Swell.
And now, here we sit, thirty minutes late to practice, staring at a gray October sky. The clouds are heavy and thick and appear sewn together like pieces of a quilt. They stretch across the sky in every direction, tucked tightly behind the treelines, which are just beginning to show the signs of autumn. Past the split rail fence, the boys run their practice; I can hear them shouting plays, and clapping, and yelling the way boys do when they get together in packs. I love that sound…it is a good sound.
It is almost time to go home. I made stewed chicken for supper–it waits for us on the stove. After we eat, we will get the kids in bed. And then I will try to figure out what to do about Henry over a glass of wine.