Hard Days

This has been a hard day.

It started off well enough. The sunrise filtered through our brushed curtains. Trees waving calmly back and forth. A woodpecker tapping.

I suspect it was when I smooshed two lady bugs on our indoor windowsill that the day turned.

I got the boys to Church a little late but they were well behaved. I looked at the woman sitting behind us and hoped she’d give me a kind word, I needed one then. At the end of the service I looked again but she had left already.

I took the boys to a restaurant because I’d made all the things the day before and wanted one meal I didn’t have to cook or clean for – the oldest chose to stay in the van. My anxiety revved around what the right choice was. He’s 9, was that okay if I could see him from the restaurant? Was I wrong to let him go instead of let his salty attitude ruin our meal?

The middle knocked over his plate of pancakes and syrup and they smothered his seat and the floor.

“Do you have a rag?” I asked the harried employee.

He pointed and I walked over to the bucket of warm water and reached in for the rag.

After I cleaned most of it up (I wasn’t sure if wiping the floor with the rag was the right plan) I grabbed the attention of the employee again.

“Is there anyway we can replace my son’s pancakes?” I asked.

“Um…okay,” he said.

He walked back to the chef and returned to me.

“You’ll have to pay for another order,” he said.

I had already paid $45 for this order. A third of which was on the floor. I looked at my middle. I knew waiting for another order meant more minutes my oldest would remain in the van.

“Can you wait until we get home for something more?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“I guess I’m full,” he said.

My heart hurt. He made a mistake. Mistakes happen. But I guess we learned a clear lesson – sometimes we have to pay for mistakes.

At home I collapsed, fully clothed, in bed. It was only one o’clock in the afternoon. The boys played well. Two of them read.

I attempted to feed the oldest several times, trying to work with the advice that “kids eat when they’re hungry” in conjunction with my knowledge that he was going to be a grumpy child if he didn’t eat and then played football. Finally I said he had to at least eat a cheese stick before his first practice.

“I was hungry before you made me go to that restaurant,” he said, “but then I stopped being hungry.”

My wheels began to spin again. Sorry. Anxiety. How do I fix this? How do I fix him? What am I doing wrong??

We made it to football practice and the rain became snow and then to a pleasant sleet snow (this is midwestern sarcasm folks).

I’d gotten the time wrong and we were a half hour early. It is rare that I’m early and this was a reminder why being early is NOT a good thing. By the time an hour had passed and he had only accomplished a half hour of practice, my oldest met me on the sidelines.

“I want to go home,” he said, “I’m freezing.”

I could have gotten on a pedestal and reminded him of the coat in the car and the extra pair of gloves I had brought for him but I had spent the first half of our time on the field trying to figure out what on earth was going on and where the coach was while also telling our youngest, no you can’t go up on that metal ramp, over and over again. The second half of my time on the field was split between realizing we had arrived early and chasing my two younger boys back to the van so we could wait in relative warmth for this football to be over.

I had no more energy for another fight.

“Fine.”

But I took that as another opportunity to beat myself up the whole way home.

You gave in. What happened to, we don’t quit??

When we pulled into the garage I said, “I am not in a good space boys. It is best for you to give me an hour so I can be better.”

They lasted a half hour. I was in the bath, taking long cleansing breaths when my youngest screamed out then entered the bathroom.

“He dragged me out of the room!”

“Who did?”

His oldest brother.

I sighed. The threads of energy I had started to reclaim drained from me. A realization that nothing will go right today no matter how hard I try to decompress and be better for my boys. They feel it.

“I’m sorry you’re having a bad day Mama,” my middle said.

I blew my nose. Maybe it’s my cold. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s being the only parent while my husband travels. But the day that started off promising has turned into a slog.

I headed downstairs and chopped carrots and celery for homemade chicken noodle soup. Another attempt to bring a little hope and healing into the day, I thought. The two younger boys snitched carrots and celery and I started to catch my breath.

But then the day turned again.

And again.

And again.

Until I ended up on my recliner with my hand in a box of Golden Grahams.

“Can you save some for me to have for my breakfast tomorrow morning?” My oldest said, his eyes locked in on the box.

“I’m a terrible role model,” I said, “I’m doing the exact opposite of what I want you to do right now.”

“No you’re not,” he said fiercely.

And I remembered how my older sister said I should never bash myself in front of my boys. Here I am, doing the exact opposite of that.

“This modeling,” I said, “is poor. I am often a good role model. But in this moment, what I am doing, is not what I want for you.”

His shoulders relaxed.

But the night didn’t let up. It wouldn’t let go.

Somedays I firmly believe there are angels living among us. Today, I couldn’t find one.

At some point in the evening the middle called us altogether and said, “listen up. I need all of us to hear this. Today has not been a good day. Tomorrow will be much better.”

He is my angel in this story, isn’t he? But I’ve been so beaten up by this day I tend to believe there were many angels along the way – I just wasn’t able to see them.