After a delightful evening out with very close friends and all the collective children, Hubby and I brought our brood home late last night in much cooler than expected temperatures. Cold, tired, cranky children are not the way to end a particularly nice evening, however; truth be told, the mission of getting everyone showered and in bed was much less painful than typical.
After the routine morning wake up (Joshua hollering that he needs something in particular at that precise moment, which also rouses his two older brothers), I tried to go back to bed. I had the beginnings of a migraine and wanted nothing more than just to lay in bed for a few more precious minutes to see if it would dissipate on its own.
I know that you all know how the story is going to develop. Joshua decided that the thing he needed the most was to climb up in bed with me, with Nick Jr. in the background, and use my tired, aching body as his own personal playground equipment. This would have been fine, (as a mother of three, there is MUCH that can be blocked out by sleep) except that the only way that this was going to be fun for Joshua was if he could continue to climb up and off the bed. Yeah, I know. I was also delusional in thinking that I would knock that migraine away early.
I got up, got the brood ready and did what needed to be done. Running errands on Sunday, particularly errands that involve wholesale stores, is something my children hate. They whine and beg and make general pests of themselves. And on this particular Sunday morning, I had big plans for getting my tires balanced too. My van is the vehicle of record for transporting my precious cargo. At over 84,000 miles, and nearly 5 years mine, I am determined to keep it as long as it will have me and keep it running safely. As soon as Matthew, my nine year old and Andrew, my almost 7 year old heard this, the verbal attack began. "But I'm so hungry," Andrew exclaimed. Matthew: "When are we going home?" Joshua: "I vant Dora!" We were off to a great start!
Somehow, in spite of the whining, complaining and overall repetitive commands by two desperate parents, it got done. Then came the debate over where to eat. No consensus, no problem. Hubby was quick with a "no one is getting what they want" rebuttal and we were off. Of course, the migraine is seeping into every lucid corner in my brain and the kids can smell the weakness in the air.
Children fed, check. One more stop before home...except that by now, I can't remember that we need sippy cups (because there is a sippy cup thief in preschool who loves our cups), that we need a new trash can for the kitchen because the old one doesn't open on command...and the two children who aren't strapped into a stroller are stuck together like magnets wrecking havoc in our path. Of course, I remember the things I have forgotten after we pull up to the house, as I am ever so carefully unloading my sleeping toddler...no easy task for a woman who so desperately needs meds and a quiet, dark room.
I no sooner lay down for a short nap that will restore my superpowers (and at this point, I will be thrilled with human capabilities, at least) than the two older ones start in on their famous "but he's cheating at chess" tirade. They started at THE EXACT MOMENT my head touched the pillow. And Hubby sprang into action. Pleading, shushing, threatening...because we all know what scares Hubbies the most. Not a bad economy or the monthly household budget being out of whack. No. What scares this Hubby, (and I suspect that this is a common affliction), is when Mommy is out of commission. Because that can only mean one thing. That he is on his own until Mommy is as strong as a newborn colt...
I know that I am human. I shudder to think what would happen to "the routine" if something seriously happened to me. I know Hubby can hold his own. But the drudgery of everyday, the handling of the sibling rivalry requires the training of United Nations workers trying to diffuse a potential nuclear threat. The coordinating of schedules and transportation for activities rivals that of any political candidate in the throes of an election season. There is so much information stored in this aching head of mine, that it would be nearly impossible for me to list it all. How to describe how Andrew's face scrunches when he is upset about something? How to detail a course of action when Matthew is plotting an intricate plan to get you to do something he wants? How to respond when all Joshua needs is a really tight hug when he is so contradictory, that politicians would be envious of the fence-riding?
So, instead of beating myself up for being human, I continue to lay, knowing that I won't be able to sleep, but content in knowing that this rest will somehow be enough to fuel the rest of the day. So that it can be enough that this colt can stand and regain her strength. So that Hubby can exhale and be ready to dodge the next bullet...