It has been a hectic few days, alas, the reason behind my lack of daily posts. Every day, I would longingly look at the computer, as it sat abandoned in the family room, awaiting our joyful reunion.
The weekend's festivities took a nose-dive when Joshua decided that he was going to be up half the night on Friday into Saturday. I had an early appointment for Andrew, so needless to say, I spent Saturday walking around like a zombie. I canceled our dinner plans with friends, mainly because I did not think I could stay awake long enough to make the 8 p.m. dinner reservations. However, even when you go to sleep at 10 p.m., you can never really catch up with sleep once you have been robbed.
Sunday was pretty much more of the same, but add rain to boot. John and I had purchased the Bon Jovi tickets as a birthday present for my sister. We had been looking forward to the concert for MONTHS...and here was the day of, I had babysitting AND a new outfit, and all I wanted was to crawl under the covers and wake up refreshed, renewed and 5 years younger...I know, delusional. I was still dragging my arse, so tired that I wanted to cry.
My mood improved slightly with a purchase of fabulous clogs and once I saw my sister and I dressed up and ready to go, I felt better. Nice Italian dinner at our favorite place, a bottle of wine shared with my favorite two people in the world (besides my children, and only when I have had a decent night's sleep) and a pre-concert beer in the parking lot of the arena (mostly because I REFUSED to spend $8 on a beer at the concert) and, voila, I was seventeen again, with 20 years experience. The concert was magnificent, the crowd was largely suburban mothers who had gotten gussied up and were ready to relive their youth, albeit if only for a few hours. Sound familiar?
What surprised me was the magnitude of my tiredness the next morning. Apparently, even if you are young at heart, your body need not follow in suit. Every bone in my body ached. My throat was incapable of make any sound resembling words. Did I mention I am sleep deprived?
But, as they say, there is no rest for the weary. I had a wake to attend on Monday night. I heard some incredibly awful news regarding the twin daughter of some very good friends. And I was so tired, I could literally hang my head and cry.
Their little girl, who is just a few months shy of her third birthday, just had a brain tumor removed. They are hopeful that chemotherapy will work, if it is indeed malignant. News like that puts everything into perspective. It makes you hold your children a little longer and tighter. It tests your resistance as a parent. Are you a sprinter, or a marathon runner? If you are so inclined, please keep them all in your prayers...
Today, in my endless coming and goings, I went to pick up the boys at Church, where they receive religious education in the Catholic faith. This is when Joshua decides, on a weekly basis, to lose it. And I don't mean quietly or with dignity. I mean, full-fledged, three year old temper tantrum, with stomping of the feet, the constant changing of decibels and pitch in the screams and the indecision of "I want it/I don't want it." Of course, he is not deterred by all the other parents that are also waiting for their children to be dismissed. This, apparently fuels him, as he wants to make sure his audience gets the best he can give. I so wanted to be in the comfort of my own home, or, at the very least, join my youngest son in the screaming and stomping. I think it would have made me feel better.
You see, no one tells you that having children makes you want to cry, in good times and in bad. In the good times, the tears are joyful ones. They come from knowing that perhaps, you are not messing up your child too much; they are tears of pride, of happiness.
When things go wrong: you have a particularly frustrating parenting day, you have overreacted and unintentionally hurt your child's feelings, you hear devastating news that you are powerless against. It is those times that the tears are the hardest to bear, because they seem to mock you. Mock your inability to hold it together, your inability to protect your child from the awful things that seem to lurk and surprise at the most inopportune times.
So, what do you do? We cannot spend the rest of our adult lives in tears. It is not practical and it certainly does not improve your chances for a smooth complexion in your later years. All you can do is take the leap of faith and hope like hell there is some kind of cushion when you hit the ground running.
We mothers are not perfect. I make no apologies for the fact that from the day I decided I wanted to become a mother, I have stumbled, fallen, learned and surprised myself and others in my capacity to make light of the things I can, and tackle the bigger problems with as much grace as I can muster.
I don't dare judge others. I do not know the circumstances that account for their reality. All I can offer another mother is a shoulder to cry on, an funny story to make her laugh, or, at the very least; the name and number of a pediatric specialist.
No, ladies, I am not meant to spend my life in the cry lane, although looking at the pictures from the weekend, I certainly have enough reason to cry. The diet begins in earnest on Sunday, as well as a renewed effort to get my chunky arse back to the gym. I may not be crying now, but I will be soon if I don't do something about the arms and the area where my waist used to sit....