Thursday Throwdown

Today something very sad happened. My children lost their ability to see. And hear. And be sane. They were apparently 100% unable to see their toys, clothes and other carnage strewn across the house. They could not hear my gentle whispers of guidance, my firm tone or my banshee screaming. By mid-afternoon I was offering my cherubs up to anyone childless who I felt could use a true blessing for the rest of the day. 

I should note that my emotions are likely exaggerated as I am on day 6 of this stomach bug/worm/parasite/demon whatever I picked up in Portland. Ick. 

I have no flipping clue what is up with my kids. I guess today is really a praise that overall I have sweet, compassionate, easy kids that I enjoy. I'm sorry Lord for not realizing that. Please know I've learned my lesson, and never afflict me with such insanity again. 

My 2-year-old, who can present the average viewer with no less than 10 distinct facial expressions at any given time will help narrate the day. 

I think it started last night when I refused to let Charlotte go to sleep with juice. I'm sorry kid, but we aren't running an all-night bar on the premises and you don't need to knock yourself out with some sippy cup love every night. 

She went to sleep furious. Charlotte is a dream kid at bedtime. Tuck her in, kiss her forehead, close the door. Bada bing, she's asleep. Sam is the kid that needs the story, the song, the prayer, the assurance no giants are going to come kidnap him in the middle of the night. Sam is our sweet but fearful child. Charlotte is just....chill. 

But not last night. Oh no, she woke up at 3am screaming, stomping, letting out vein-popping sobs of agony. I knew it was because of the dang juice. But I was in such disbelief, I pretended to stay asleep and let Frank deal with it. (I know, he married a true catch.) 

Eventually I got up too and wrestled the beast back into her slumber, compromising with a modest concoction of cranberry juice with mostly water, which she drank out of bed because I'm competitive and need to win. 

Both kids woke up at 5:20 for good. 

There she was. A mess of blonde curls up before the sun. Judging me. Mommy, do not drink water. Do not eat. Do not put your morning pants on. (Don't you judge me too - I hate pants - why would I bother with them in bed? My collection of morning pants is awesome....). 

Do not feed Sam. Do not touch Sam. Do not acknowledge Sam exists. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. You will sit here with me all day or I will scream. And scream and scream and scream. And do not tell me it's because I'm tired because I will hit you upside the head with my applesauce pouch like a crazy drunkard during my fit of tempestuous 6am rage. 

Sadly for her, I am just as stubborn - and much bigger - and so she did have to scream it out. She settled for being a semi-permanent appendage for the day. You haven't lived until you've applied makeup while hanging onto a 20-pound critic. You know what the result is? No makeup for the day. 

My barnacle and I finally got the house clean(ish) with the help of Sam, who lamented that his legs were broken. That he was trying and trying, but they just would not work. We witnessed two miraculous healings throughout the day as he was able to walk just fine when we went to get tacos for lunch and play his favorite dance game. Truly remarkable. 

Charlotte proceeded to only want the things Sam wanted. She NEEDED to play with his toys. She NEEDED to eat/drink whatever he did. She NEEDED to be an absolute nuisance in order to feel her life had purpose. She succeeded. Sam not only succumbed to her torments but proved the theory that the bullied becomes the bully in order to socially survive. 

This is how I navigated my way through errands, housework, regular work and an ill-fated trip to the library with one screaming barnacle and one whining, tearful spawn who decided he was experiencing the harshest of world injustices when I couldn't find his red baseball socks in time for his game. 

My little Red Sox player wore white socks. So sue me. Sam already intends to when he turns 18. 

Then frank arrives at the game around 5:30. 

Daddy, don't listen to anything mommy says. I don't know what this woman is talking about, she be crazy or somethin'...... 

And both children proceeded to be model citizens for the rest of the evening. Until bedtime..... But we'll just save that one for the movie version. 

I love you, baby girl. I love your beautiful, confident, bold spirit. And it's a darn good thing because I was beginning to appreciate why they only want boys in China. 

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