There was a monster inside me this morning. I woke up feeling seasonal junk creeping up coppery out of my lungs and I just wasn't in the mood to survive the day. I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, dinked around on solitaire for a bit, checked the clock every 5 minutes... 5:15... 5:20... 5:25... Loud thumping shook the ceiling above the couch I was on. Lou had woken up. He crashed around and sang a joyful noise as he does every morning he gets a solid 10 hours rest. It must be nice to sleep 10 hours and then crash again for a good 2-4 hours every afternoon. I'd gladly exchange a day at the office to have someone shuttle me around and tuck me in twice a day.
I've been "free ranging" him in the mornings he's in a good mood to keep him in good spirits until I can successfully get him on the bus. This morning went amazing until it, well, no longer did. He cooperated through changing out of his wet pants and into school clothes, he went to the kitchen and retrieved his cereal choice for the morning, and he even helped me to get his backpack together. But then he showed me he knew how to unlock the front door. I told him he couldn't go outside without socks and shoes on, and he unlocked the door again... and again... and again... Each time becoming more and more hysterical to the point we both ended up on the stairs with snot, sweat and tears smeared between the both of us, carpet burns on our arms and knees, him having a massive meltdown upside down on the bottom landing with his legs up the wall or kicking into my arms. Socks were slid on sideways while I cursed between my teeth. Shoes were consistently flung out and down the stairs by legs that were determined to avoid anything being secured to his feet. I could hear my alarm going off on top of the organ by the front door signalling for us to be OUT. THE. DOOR. I finally snapped and the monster rose up out of my belly in a growl, "DAMMIT, I NEED YOUR HELP! YOU NEED TO HELP MAMA SO SHE CAN HELP YOU! THE BUS IS COMING AND I NEED YOUR HELP!" I broke. I don't ever raise my voice to Lou unless he's putting himself or others in danger. I don't ever CURSE at Lou ever, NEVER ever. His cries went from manic and hysterical to subdued and sad. My mama heart broke.
Things calmed down some between crocodile tears and less passionate flailing of limbs. His meltdown was slowing down. I opened the front door and slung his backpack across my shoulder, sweeping my hand dramatically overhead and pointing out the door. "Time to go, kid." I could hear the bus's air brakes and back up alarm as it turned around the next street down. He walked up to me and wiped his tears; patting my stomach as a signal that he wanted me to pick him up. His hot damp face snuggled into my neck and my guilt ate me up. I shushed him and rubbed his back while I hoofed it up the driveway, all the while whispering how much I love him and how sorry I was that I had to be loud. I whispered that I knew he was upset, but sometimes mommy's get upset too... that even mommy's need help. As if he knew that he wasn't the only one who had a hard time this morning, he took the initiative once plopped on the bottom step of the bus to keep climbing the steps and walking back to his seat by himself. I shoved his backpack into the hands of the driver and bolted, feeling guilty for fussing at Lou just moments earlier and not having the ability to receive my normal bus stop cuddles due to our setback.
What awaited me on the other side of the door was yet another child eager to hear a "Motivational Speech for the Hard of Hearing." Lillie came to me complaining that none of her clothes fit/matched/were clean. She shoved a pair of pants somewhere close to my retina and told me to match something to it. I felt like I was being set up, and I was of course. Nothing I picked out made her happy, leading to a grand finale of a roar from yours truly, "YOUR DISRESPECTFUL LITTLE ATTITUDE CAN GO TAKE A HIKE IN ANYTHING BUT THE CLOTHING I'VE PROVIDED FOR YOU!" Everything she decided to put on I nixed with the explanation that because I apparently don't care or provide for her like her Grandmother's do, she can't wear anything I bought her. Needless to say, her attitude didn't change much, but she did walk out of the house in quite possibly the world's most ridiculously thrown together outfit screaming that she knows I don't love her or care about her. I yelled for her to have an amazing day and that I loved her to infinity and beyond... despite the fact I wanted to strangle her sweet little neck because my patience was beyond gone at that point.
The one bonus to all my "motivational speeches" of the morning was that child number 3, number 1?, Logan... in an effort to not get spoken to himself was up, dressed and out the door before I even had to ask. There's always the one kid that gets it and I wish I could say he got spared the impatient allergy crud monster living in my lungs, but he got an earful himself last night after calling me a liar and telling me what he was and wasn't going to do and what I wasn't and wasn't going to do as his mother. Wrong time wrong place, kiddo... he was told he'd be lucky to come home from his dad's with everything packed up with the exception of his mattress and a few outfits to get him through each week.
Y'all... I'm just so done. I'm so exhausted from having had shingles and now this junk that's attempting to invade all my breathing related organs. Yeah, BY THE WAY. I totally woke up last week and realized I wasn't getting bit by fleas courtesy of our newly treated once a fleabag kitten, but an illness that typically only plagues those double my age. Thanks to an insane amount of stress, my immune system has completely tanked. Shingles were just the white flag my body waved as an SOS/we give up method. I need a week unplugged, in the Keys, beer in my hand and no one disagreeing with me or literally kicking me with their little foot. I need 10 hour hibernation sessions with 4 hour naps. Maybe I should answer one of the Nigerian Prince's who email me 2-3 times a week. They seem to be rolling in the dough.
I've been "free ranging" him in the mornings he's in a good mood to keep him in good spirits until I can successfully get him on the bus. This morning went amazing until it, well, no longer did. He cooperated through changing out of his wet pants and into school clothes, he went to the kitchen and retrieved his cereal choice for the morning, and he even helped me to get his backpack together. But then he showed me he knew how to unlock the front door. I told him he couldn't go outside without socks and shoes on, and he unlocked the door again... and again... and again... Each time becoming more and more hysterical to the point we both ended up on the stairs with snot, sweat and tears smeared between the both of us, carpet burns on our arms and knees, him having a massive meltdown upside down on the bottom landing with his legs up the wall or kicking into my arms. Socks were slid on sideways while I cursed between my teeth. Shoes were consistently flung out and down the stairs by legs that were determined to avoid anything being secured to his feet. I could hear my alarm going off on top of the organ by the front door signalling for us to be OUT. THE. DOOR. I finally snapped and the monster rose up out of my belly in a growl, "DAMMIT, I NEED YOUR HELP! YOU NEED TO HELP MAMA SO SHE CAN HELP YOU! THE BUS IS COMING AND I NEED YOUR HELP!" I broke. I don't ever raise my voice to Lou unless he's putting himself or others in danger. I don't ever CURSE at Lou ever, NEVER ever. His cries went from manic and hysterical to subdued and sad. My mama heart broke.
Things calmed down some between crocodile tears and less passionate flailing of limbs. His meltdown was slowing down. I opened the front door and slung his backpack across my shoulder, sweeping my hand dramatically overhead and pointing out the door. "Time to go, kid." I could hear the bus's air brakes and back up alarm as it turned around the next street down. He walked up to me and wiped his tears; patting my stomach as a signal that he wanted me to pick him up. His hot damp face snuggled into my neck and my guilt ate me up. I shushed him and rubbed his back while I hoofed it up the driveway, all the while whispering how much I love him and how sorry I was that I had to be loud. I whispered that I knew he was upset, but sometimes mommy's get upset too... that even mommy's need help. As if he knew that he wasn't the only one who had a hard time this morning, he took the initiative once plopped on the bottom step of the bus to keep climbing the steps and walking back to his seat by himself. I shoved his backpack into the hands of the driver and bolted, feeling guilty for fussing at Lou just moments earlier and not having the ability to receive my normal bus stop cuddles due to our setback.
What awaited me on the other side of the door was yet another child eager to hear a "Motivational Speech for the Hard of Hearing." Lillie came to me complaining that none of her clothes fit/matched/were clean. She shoved a pair of pants somewhere close to my retina and told me to match something to it. I felt like I was being set up, and I was of course. Nothing I picked out made her happy, leading to a grand finale of a roar from yours truly, "YOUR DISRESPECTFUL LITTLE ATTITUDE CAN GO TAKE A HIKE IN ANYTHING BUT THE CLOTHING I'VE PROVIDED FOR YOU!" Everything she decided to put on I nixed with the explanation that because I apparently don't care or provide for her like her Grandmother's do, she can't wear anything I bought her. Needless to say, her attitude didn't change much, but she did walk out of the house in quite possibly the world's most ridiculously thrown together outfit screaming that she knows I don't love her or care about her. I yelled for her to have an amazing day and that I loved her to infinity and beyond... despite the fact I wanted to strangle her sweet little neck because my patience was beyond gone at that point.
The one bonus to all my "motivational speeches" of the morning was that child number 3, number 1?, Logan... in an effort to not get spoken to himself was up, dressed and out the door before I even had to ask. There's always the one kid that gets it and I wish I could say he got spared the impatient allergy crud monster living in my lungs, but he got an earful himself last night after calling me a liar and telling me what he was and wasn't going to do and what I wasn't and wasn't going to do as his mother. Wrong time wrong place, kiddo... he was told he'd be lucky to come home from his dad's with everything packed up with the exception of his mattress and a few outfits to get him through each week.
Y'all... I'm just so done. I'm so exhausted from having had shingles and now this junk that's attempting to invade all my breathing related organs. Yeah, BY THE WAY. I totally woke up last week and realized I wasn't getting bit by fleas courtesy of our newly treated once a fleabag kitten, but an illness that typically only plagues those double my age. Thanks to an insane amount of stress, my immune system has completely tanked. Shingles were just the white flag my body waved as an SOS/we give up method. I need a week unplugged, in the Keys, beer in my hand and no one disagreeing with me or literally kicking me with their little foot. I need 10 hour hibernation sessions with 4 hour naps. Maybe I should answer one of the Nigerian Prince's who email me 2-3 times a week. They seem to be rolling in the dough.
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