My son is driving me nuts.
This morning for the third time in the last couple months he poured a bottle of my perfume out – this time, on the kitchen table. I totally lost it – I was so pissed. I tanned his hide. I put him in his room. I cleaned the mess. I was practically crying. He has done this three times now.
But even as I threw heavily-scented kitchen towels in the washer it didn’t take long for me to stop being mad at him. The damage was done; it was over. I went back to his room and he flung himself into my arms and sobbed and cried and said, “I’m sorry, Mama!” and yes, it was genuine on his part. I was sorry too and I told him so. Sophie hung back crying because in my fit of temper minutes before I’d told them I wasn’t taking them to the Y. After some three-way discussion and cuddling I realized I still had it within me to get them dressed, ready, and pack my gym bag. So that’s what I did.
But heck, even that is ancient history. Right now (post-gym and a lunch date just Nels and I at Billy’s restaurant) he’s making me crazy because he’s in his room playing and talking instead of napping. There is just something more claustrophobic knowing they aren’t napping, even if theoretically they are occupying themselves (making a mess) which again, theoretically gives you “free time” (P.S. likely time later you have to bust hump to help them clean messes).
I know I’m lucky to have 5- and 3-year old nappers. I’m spoiled. Not just for the break in the day (altho’ that’s the obvious bonus) but for the fact my children are most always well-rested and happy up until their rather-late bedtime. Oh, and I get a good sleep-in if I want it (I do). For now, my solution to Nels’ happy squawking in his room is to put some headphones in as I go about chores.
I need a cup of coffee.
ETA – Overheard a few seconds ago as Ralph opens a care package mailed to us from a family member: “No, no, no! Don’t touch that! It’s broken glass!“