This morning, R had guard duty and left the house around 5 am. Once again, I am thankful that he's in the Air Force now because the schedule is a bazillion times better than the Army schedule was. But I'm also grateful that he was in the Army, because I don't think I'd appreciate the benefits of AF life the way I do if I hadn't had a taste of Army life first.
A little bit later, T comes into our bedroom, climbs into bed with me, kisses me on the forehead, and says "good morning Mommy!" There is nothing sweeter. Nothing. We get up and have about half an hour together before S wakes up. I love it when I can spend one on one time with the kids. S gets more of it now than T does since he's in Kindergarten all day, so it's even sweeter when he and I get some unexpected quality time.
We were even all up, dressed, breakfast eaten, and teeth brushed in plenty of time to walk to the bus stop before the bus was rumbling down the street. Already this week is off to a better start than last week. And for the first time in ages, S didn't give me any lip about getting dressed this morning -- all thanks to some mint condition hand me downs from T's friend Allyson.
Once T was off to school, S and I headed to the Y. 40 minutes into my workout, one of the childcare workers came to get me saying that S was in the bathroom saying she thought she was going to throw up. Oh no! I dashed in there to check on her. She hadn't thrown up, but was crying and asking to go home. And that's what we did. Poor thing. She had started coughing and was coughing so hard that she gagged. And there is nothing I can do but hold her until she feels better.
After we got home, she seemed to be much better. The only problem was that she wanted to play with T's DSi. No way, Jose! There is no way she's going to touch that thing without T's express permission. I'm all for the kids sharing toys and whatnot, and I often have to enforce the practice. However, every now and then I fully support the right not to share. Being a parent is terribly hard sometimes, what with all the concern about how my decisions will affect, scar, or warp them for life. I mean, really, who needs that kind of constant pressure?!? I kid, I kid.
But my refusal to let her have access to the DSi started a massive tantrum. First she cried, all pitiful like, and when that didn't work she turned to tearfully demanding that I give her what she wanted. Umm...no. Then she got really mad and you could just see that she was trying to figure out what she could do that would cause me to react. She's a smart cookie, that one, and she picked up something to throw. Unfortunately for her, she chose a blanket. The thing about throwing a blanket is that there is rarely a satisfying whack involved. Especially when the blanket is 6 times bigger than you are and all you really manage to do is dump half of it on yourself and the other half on the floor right beside you. Naturally this only added to the anger at hand, so she went for the shoes lying on the floor beside the couch. In a dramatic show of defiance and an impressive attempt to show me who's boss, she held up the shoe over her head for a few seconds and then flung it as hard as she could towards the wall. The only problem with that? She let go too early and so the shoe landed about a foot (no pun intended) away from her.
Well. That just did it. She flung herself to the ground and just screamed while she rolled around and flailed about. She wasn't really even screaming any words, just trying to achieve her window rattling decibel level that usually gets a rise out of me.
In case you were wondering what I was doing during this impressive display of toddler fireworks? I was sitting calmly on the couch giving her my full attention but not reacting in any way. I was also trying not to laugh, because while there was certainly humor to be found, I have been that frustrated myself and there's nothing worse than being upset and having someone laugh at you. Well, at least in my book. After a minute, she stopped screaming and looked at me with a tear stained face, red eyes, and more than a hint of defiance in the set of her jaw.
Me: Want to go water the flowers with me?
We put on shoes and jackets and went out to water the flowers. As I was showing her how to position the sprinkler so that as many of the flowers were reached by the water as possible, S puts her hand on my face and says, "I sorry, Mommy."
I scoop up the puddle my heart has melted into and pour it back into my chest. I give her a big hug and tell her I understand what it's like to be that mad, and that no matter how mad she ever gets I will love her just the same. She nods her head a couple times looking so much older than her three years. Somehow, I don't think being the kid is entirely a piece of cake either.