See this charming boy delivering flowers to his mother? Oh he was very dear this morning, for about an hour or two. Slept until 8 (after a 5:15 am wakeup crying that I had forgotten to put him to bed – so exhausted was he last night that apparently he blacked out during the extended prayers/ghosts-go-away-dance/repeated requests for water, etc, etc, etc that I did in fact perform).
As you can see by lunchtime things were going downhill precipitously. Whit and Grace played “dog” for a while, including putting Whit’s Halloween costume from 2006 on him (which still, alarmingly, fits). I was making lunch and I could hear her ordering him around upstairs, and I asked, “Gracie? Are you playing dog?” And she answered cheerfully, “Yes! Whit likes this game!” Okay. I had some flashbacks of similar bossing around I did of Hilary – Hils, I’m sorry!
During “quiet time” I just wanted to read my excellent book. The children kept on emerging from their rooms with requests and issues, each one smaller and more ridiculous than the last. I kept getting more and more annoyed. I was reminded of a woman my parents knew when we lived in Paris. Every afternoon she took to her bed to read for a while. During that time she kept a wet washcloth in a basin by her bed. If any of her children ventured into her room, interrupting her reading, she would smack them in the face with a cold, wet washcloth. I thought this was horrifying for a long time and now think it’s somewhat genius (in much the same way “you must be mistaking this for a democracy” has gone from statement that makes me cry to rallying cry)
After quiet time, while Matt played tennis, I took both kids out on their bikes. They wanted to go to the “dog park” which has a big paved circle to ride around. They quickly ditched their bikes in favor of climbing the tree. Whit began to scream randomly at Grace every few seconds. I told him if he yelled again we were leaving. He yelled again. We left. I walked down the street trailing a crying, screaming 4 year old, face red and wet with tears. It was awesome. I gave him one more chance at another playground nearby, which he promptly forfeited by screaming/whining/crying (who knew such a fantastic hybrid existed? oh believe me, it does). I then dragged him by the hand, pulling his bike with the other hand, down the street to the car.
I’d say he conservatively wailed “Mummy!” about 400 times in less than an hour. As I was getting dinner ready and he whined my name yet again I finally snapped on him. “Whit!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, “If you say my name one more time I am going to go absolutely apeshit on you!” He was visibly startled at my screaming (which makes it seem like more of a rarity than it sadly is). But then I could see the little wheels turning and he said, “Mummy?” He continued right through my blowing up, “Argggghhhhh!” asking, “What is apeshit?“
He ate almost nothing at dinner and then screamed some more. Finally he fell into a spellbound stupor in front of Scooby Doo and was asleep in his bed by 7. He regained a little ground with me tonight by choosing “Goodnight Moon” as his bedtime story. Oh that book makes me ache with nostalgia and awareness of how fleeting it all is. Plus now he is sleeping which we all know is my absolute favorite state for children.
Still, not my finest day or his. Am hoping those catlike, land-on-all-fours-after-jumping-from-roof, Darwinesque reflexes kick in tomorrow. The ones where he throws me a bone when I think I can literally take no more. I imagine those of you reading this who are moms know what I mean. After four straight nights of hourly waking he’d suddenly sleep from 10 to 4. After days of screaming (like today), he’ll be an outright charmer for a day or two and make me forget the incessant whining. I chalk it up to sheer survival instinct.