"Bitch" - Meredith Brooks
It's been a while. It's always been a while, though, hasn't it? Every time I open this blog to write, I am crippled by the thoughts of all that has happened since I last wrote something, and I am crushed under the weight. Where to start? Fuck it. Let's start right where we are.
Where are we? We are on the other side of a very trying weekend.
These boys. They are so, so beautiful. Let's go ahead and get that out there. They are developing faster than I can keep up. They evolve physically, mentally, and emotionally on a daily basis. The kids we put to bed are not the same kids we wake up in the morning. They are inquisitive. They are best friends - and also enemies. They are both so sweet and have hearts with a greater capacity for love than most people I have met in my life.
They are also leeching my energy and sanity. A little more every day.
This weekend was quite the leech event! It was like a fucked up game of chicken. "Who can break Mommy's psyche first?" I didn't witness them discuss this question, but it had to have happened, because they converged on me from the get-go.
Friday was pretty chill. At least I think it was. It doesn't stand out in my mind, which means it wasn't bad, or I got my ass kicked so hard Saturday and Sunday that there is truly no room in my mind to remember what happened Friday.
Let's start with Saturday. We were invited to a birthday party for a child in RB's class. Our first birthday party with a friend made from school. A milestone! Something to be excited about, right? You might think that, with all your balance and emotional regulation, but if RB could type, he would probably shove my hands off the keyboard right this second to let you know, no, it was not something to be excited about. Why is that? I couldn't fuckin' tell you, friend. I truly could not. He loves to play, he loves to party, he loves pizza, and he loves cake. This party would have all four of his favorite things. He was born obstinate. He says 'no' before he even processes the question. I love that! So much! It truly challenges the 'what doesn't kill us makes us stronger' muscle I guess he feels I have let atrophy over the years.
I brought the birthday party up a few times last week. Every time I did, he said he didn't want to go. Why? "I just don't wanna." OH okay, totally valid reason, except for the part where it's not. I finally convinced him we only had to go for 3 minutes (because 5 is too long!!) and he was okay with that. We get there, and he realizes it actually is exactly where he wants to be. He goes, he plays, LJ in tow, friends abound. Life is beautiful.
There was a bounce house. We love a bounce house. I know they're dangerous and whatever. Most things our kids can get their hands on are dangerous, though - even the benign shit. We're prepared to deal with the fallout from a bounce house. They're having a grand time in there - laughing, throwing their rubber bodies from the window to the damn wall. Beau and I were talking with other parents. I hear Beau say "Bounce house going down" and I ran my happy ass over there only to find that it was not going down, not from deflating at least. No, no, no - RB had decided to play ball with the big kids and they'd all landed on the same side of the thing, and under their combined weight, it had started to fall. I did what any mom (maybe not, that's what I'm telling myself) would've done, and I just started bitching out the closest kid to me. Now, lucky for me, that was RB and not a stranger's kid, though every kid in that thing caught some strays for me. Maybe I watch too much true crime, but those are made of rubber, and I was not at all interested in ANY of those kids getting themselves wrapped up in rubber because their heads were in the clouds (or up their asses). So, I give RB a little ass-chewin', and the other kids get some of it too. He said something during all this like "Mama, it wasn't me" and I said something back like, "You may not have done it, but you were here when it happened, so you are a part of the problem."
RB was pissed. Pissed I saved him from an uncertain fate? NOOOO. No. That is too reasonable. He was pissed because I killed his vibe, and that I yelled (didn't even yell, y'all, I barely raised my voice) at him in front of his friends. Want me to not yell? Maybe stop actively trying to die. Idk. Just an idea.
RB is driven by his emotions, much like me. It took me decades (pretty much until my 30s) to get my hands on the wheel of my brain rather than my emotions driving. I remember quite vividly having meltdowns on the playground when my friends were mad at me. I look back and realize they were panic attacks, but time travel is not possible, so I cannot go back and teach myself differently. I remember once in PE, I was called to the middle of the full class, all of whom were in a circle, with a few other kids to play some kind of king of the hill game. And I remember crying, then being escorted to the coach's office to get my shit together. Too many eyes on me. Too much pressure. That part of me stayed until I had kids, and even now, I can feel the lump in my throat when I am being watched, no matter the intent behind the gaze.
RB's got a long way to go. So he's pissed, he's upset with me, upset it happened, and upset people are looking at him. We're out of the bounce house at this point. The birthday girl is opening her presents. RB starts to wail. WAIL. He will legit wail like a war widow over a folded American flag. You can hear him down the street when he gets to this place. I'm trying to calm him down. Next thing I know, LJ decides he should get in on the fun. He, too, begins crying, because why the fuck not? So there we sit, two kids fully melting down 3 feet from a sweet girl just trying to open her presents, and the parents of almost every kid in RB's class listening to the sweet, sweet sounds of the Harbison family.
It was hot as hell (literally) outside, which wasn't helping, and there were a lot of people, and those factors were not exactly helping them calm down. I hulked out (quietly, as I too had eyes on me), picked both kids up, and we marched (surfboard carried) their happy asses inside. They calmed down in the AC, got it together, and we finished the party with no further tears.
We go home, we have some quiet time on the couch. It was too late in the day for naptime. It was too long of a day for us to make it without a moment to reset. LJ took a catnap. RB watched TV, mostly quiet, until he couldn't sit still any longer. I am currently reading the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, and I appreciated a moment to read. It's a new thing for the boys, watching me do something for myself, trying to have a Grace-focused hobby. I'm trying to make more room in my life for me, too. I'm trying to teach the boys that I am a whole person, too. They're kind of getting it, kind of not. Sometimes they leave me alone to read. Other times they interrupt me so often I give up. Normally, the latter only happens when something big is going down in the book. They have sixth sense for fucking with me. I swear.
The party we were at was hosted at the birthday star's house. It was immaculate. I mean, immaculate. I was gobsmacked and humbled. I thought of our home - so lived in, clean and messy, always loud, never still. I looked at the home around me. Two happy families living so differently. They had themed decorations. At our house, birthday decorations are more a Dwight Schrute "It's your birthday." type vibe. No shade to them and no shade to us. The juxtaposition just made me laugh a little. The theme was Toy Story. Our boys aren't really into movies yet (probably because it would require them to stop moving for more than 45 seconds at a time) so they're not really aware of the characters. One of the characters is a plastic spoon type toy. The goodie bags (YES, they had goodie bags. Goodie bags at the Harbison house are more "congrats, you made it out unscathed!") included a DIY kit to make these spoon characters. So I put them together for the boys (clay was included, I do not trust LJ not to eat clay). RB comes up behind me as I'm looking at my artwork. He said the following in correct context and with the correct tone, communicating exactly what he meant to communicate. He says, over my shoulder, "...what the fuck?"
It is so hard not to laugh in those moments. He said it right. Thatta boy! But also, don't curse. It's unbecoming. One day, he'll start cursing and he'll never stop. Whatever, that I don't care about - we come from a line of cursers. But at the ripe age of almost-4? I don't need to hear the F word come out of his mouth. So I said "don't say what the fuck, son." He said "what the f-". I cut him off. "Don't say it". He took a breath, then said "...what the hell?" I said "Son, I know you hear Mommy say that, but c'mon, man, you know those words aren't for you." He finally settled on "what the heck?"
Fast forward to the evening. Everyone is melting down! LJ refuses to eat! RB refuses to pick a show they will both enjoy! Everyone wants to touch Mommy at the same time! No one wants to cooperate! I am considering pulling my hair out of my scalp!
I fight my way through bathtime. I use the word fight very intentionally here. It was me versus them. No other way to put it. No winners in that fight.
At some point, I find myself lying on the floor of RB's room, tears streaming down either side of my face, thanking God for these children, and begging him to help them go the fuck to sleep. Yes, I curse in my prayers. God knows who I am. I shan't hide the truth of me from Him.
God does just that. Everyone goes to sleep. I have a few seltzers with Beau and we tie one on. What a day! We survived our outing! Our kids had fun! No one actually died! So proud of us.
Sunday, I wake up late. Like L A T E. Beau had started breakfast and the boys were up. Waking up late really upsets me. I think it's because I have about a million things to do at any given moment, and waking up late feels selfish and irresponsible. So I burst out of our room like a bat out of hell. I probably am the first domino to fall in what turned out to be a very emotional day for the boys. LJ felt like shit. If I were a betting woman, I would put $20 on him having an ear infection. Don't panic though, as I am leaving in 5 minutes to take him to the doctor. RB was emotionally hungover, I think. The highs of Saturday seemed to have emptied his tolerance bank on Sunday.
We go between emotional devastation and laughter for the remainder of Sunday. I am not exaggerating. The highs and the lows were extreme. I once again found myself Sunday evening having that same conversation with God. "Please, God, get these children in bed, for I am floundering." Not my exact prayer - I've been clear how honest I am with the Big Man Upstairs - but the message was all the same. I ended up crying in the shower after. I had a low grade fever. Physical illness? Maybe. But I am an emotional creature, and I would not be surprised if my body was trying to fight my sad feelings with white blood cells. "Where's the culprit?!" they probably yelled as they rushed through my veins. "In my head!" I tried to yell back through the emotional fallout.
I went to bed after that. Slept more than nine hours. It was glorious. I'm still running on a low tank. It's a new day. Yesterday still exists. I can feel it in my bones. But I put my feet on the ground this morning and just kept doing the thing, as I keep doing, as I will always do. I may be drained, but I am not empty.
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