Back when Chris and I were in junior high school, we had a good friend named Brendan Palmer. His mother had... not one, not two, not three, not four, but count them...
five boys.... and Brendan was the oldest. We all thought she was such a bitch. She
was a bitch. But now. Now I see the light... OF COURSE SHE WAS. She was exhausted. They had beaten her down mentally and physically and emotionally. SHE.WAS.EXHAUSTED. It's funny, especially since we've long lost touch, but I have thought of her so many times since having my three boys. I feel the need to look her up on White Pages and say, "Look... I know I'm two short, but I get it. I really
get it."
I don't know why, but these children have driven me to the BRINK these last two days. What's funny is that James was at camp all day so you'd think I'd be refreshed when I saw him again this afternoon. Nope. Day camp poses its own issues since he comes home
completely worn out and cranky from being in the sun all day. And Henry... he went to Little Gym camp for 3 hours this morning, but I spent the majority of that time trying to keep Pete from falling asleep or melting down since I stayed "out" and therefore, he missed his morning nap. I realized on Monday it is too far to drive to Little Gym (20 mins away), then all the way home and then all the way back to pick Henry up, and then all the way home. I spent the entire 3 hours driving the other day which defeats the purpose of a break.
Of course when I picked Pete up from the gym daycare (at the Healthplex), the kid jumped into my arms and waved goodbye to the staff like he'd just carved his way outta Alcatraz with spoons. Really!? You're
that miserable? They have every single Little Tyke/ Fisher Price toy known to man and the staff couldn't be any sweeter or kinder to him. And it's only for one hour
... I ain't buyin' it.
So that takes us to this afternoon when Chris called for the first time in a week. Normally I'd be super excited to talk with him except I'd just found Henry outside (again!!) without asking permission. This sounds harmless enough except that just this morning he'd let himself and Peter (
without any clothes) outside
while I was lacing up my running shoes. They were out of my sight less than 3 minutes. "Where did those precious children run off to?" I thought to myself. Ahhh, yes... to the porta-potty. Pete was up the street, at a porta potty, BY HIMSELF. And did I mention that he was wearing
nothing besides a diaper????
So then it was a special treat when Peter decided he only needed an hour and a half nap (when usually he takes a 3+ hour nap). What to do? What to do? It's 98 degrees here so
"Let's go buy a kiddie pool" I told them. I loaded everyone up, drove to Target, bought said pool, blew air into it until I thought I was going to faint, sprayed everyone down with SPF 100, wrangled fat little bellies into too-tight swim suits and rash guards (and why?
Why are swimsuits always a size too small?), wrestled the little pool out of the house while answering not one not two not three but one
thousand questions from Henry about every single step we made, filled pool up with water, watched them play for 10 full minutes and then wanted to strangle them when they decided they'd had enough. They were done. They were covered in grass... and water... and mud... and done.... with soaking wet clothes. And dirty, muddy feet all over the house.
And, lucky us, we still have the bedtime ritual to look forward to.
Lord, please let me not beat my children.
