Sunday, March 22, 2015

Her Weekend Appointment

The weekend was going to be a good one.  Weekends are so good to recharge.

Friday night should have been housecleaning and laundry, after all the mom has a special appointment on Saturday, but the week took a toll.  She thinks 'maybe I will read one of the seven books sitting beside the night stand'.  There are books on learning, books on getting healthy, books on the latest research.  She abandons all ambition in favor of Jimmy Fallon clips and Facebook scrolling.  

She is exhausted.  The toddler gets up several times that night.  The tot is down to one paci, and it has a hole in the side.  All the articles she has read about choke hazards run through her head and she tries to convince the tot to give it up already.  The thought of making a Walmart run goes through her head.  She knows when a child is old enough to ask for a paci in complete sentences, it is time to let it go.  She lets the tot hold the paci and half suck on it until she nods off to sleep.

The boy wakes at 6:30am and joins his mom and dad in the bed.  He tells his mom that she is taking up too much room in her own bed.  After having several limbs in her side, she rises at 7am.  She has two hours to get to her appointment.  After she showers, she walks down the steps to see the boy with chocolate ice cream.  The tot is doing a little better with a piece of cornbread from last night's supper.. it crumbles on the floor as she walks.  She scolds both children, especially the oldest for knowing better and not waiting for breakfast.

The mom tries not to look at the leftover chili dried on the dishes or the disarray of the house.  Breakfast...breakfast....she debates on making fresh eggs and toast or precooked breakfast corn dogs, probably made of red dye and poison.  She decides on poison.  It is fast and it

tastes good.

She begins work on the kitchen.  She scrapes all the leftovers into a pot and walks them to the edge of the wooded area.  She remembers a story she read about a coyote spotted in the local area.  She envisions a coyote chasing her while she has a big pot of leftover chili in one hand.  She would look like a slow ham to the coyote.  There would be no chance of survival.  She realizes she really has too vivid of an  imagination and goes back into the house without so much of a dog bite to show for it.

Back inside the house, the children are fighting over the television.

It hasn't been an hour and she tells them both to quit or no television.  They agree on an old movie, The Backyardigans.  The boy says this movie brings back good memories of when he was an only child and got all of the attention.  She explains he is not lacking in attention and that sharing the world is a good thing.

She looks at the clock and the kitchen.  Time is running out. 

She gets a good start on unloading and loading the dishwasher.  She begins to sweep and separate the upstairs from the downstairs toys.  She is a little mad at herself for being lazy on Friday night.

The tot begins to cry. The boy is mad.

There has been a casualty.  
The snake was caught in the crossfires of the pancake corn dog and syrup.  I reassure everyone that this is fixable.

The husband wakes.  He shares he has errands to run.  She thinks she has "errands" to run too, it's called not going crazy.  She reminds him of her appointment.  He doesn't seem overly concerned.   The thought of taking children doesn't cross his mind.  The husband leaves, and she takes it easy on him because she knows what he is going to have to do today when she leaves.

She drags the vacuum out, gets the trash up, and separates more toys.  Why do we have 50 sports balls?  Shouldn't a little boy and girl have two?  She has one hour to finish up.  

This appointment isn't going to happen on time.

She begins to break out into a sweat from rushing and lack of cardio in her life.  Then she hears 'I'm hungry?'
How can two skinny little children be so hungry all the time.
No. No.  We just had breakfast.  You can both have an apple.  There is whining.  
'Will you cut it?'
 sure. fine. just eat it.

I vacuum the house and the tot cries the whole time.  She hates the vacuum and thinks her mommy is the worst for using it.  She reminds the tot that eating cornbread without a plate in the morning doesn't help her case.  

She thinks she is home free until she views the children's room.  What in the &*^% happened here!?!  
She knows the right thing to do here.  She reads the mommy blogs- make those children get up here and clean up these explosions.  Teach them responsibility.  
This is the dilemma that gets every woman in trouble.  1.  the kids are laughing and playing.  Is it worth it to disrupt?  2.  who is the only human in this house who knows the difference in play, dirty, and clean clothing?? 
Besides her own superpower  is being able to find the lost item before a meltdown.

all in the name of purple pants?

She gets to work immediately on the tasks.  Suddenly the tot begins to cry again.  She is convinced the toddler years mirror the hormonal years, and she doesn't know if she is patient enough to make it through the other end.  The tot is explaining she doesn't want the purple pants, she wants the pink pants.  The boy is in his room stuffing seven pieces of gum in his mouth.

I. am. losing. patience.  

Not in the sweet motherly way, in the Lifetime for Women way. It's the 'I'm going to start talking crazy to myself in a mirror'.. kind of way.    The children know and they scamper to their rooms.

She is really late.  She checks her phone to text her delay. She realizes it is dead. She can never remember to charge her phone.  She plugs in the phone and then the hot iron to fix her frizzed out hair from not drying it after the shower.  The tot comes over and brushes her hair.  One tiny hand gently rubs her mom's hair and then comes a sweet kiss.  

She remembers how precious the tot is, hormones and all.  
She loves them all very much.

The husband returns.  She rushes to put on some half clean clothing,  brushes her hair, and lipstick is a requirement.  Before she rushes out the door, the boy kisses her on the cheek.  Rare for age nine.  She relishes the affection.

She is only running 70 minutes behind.  She calls ahead to tell them she is coming!  

She is going to make the appointment (or die trying).

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