Today started as a seemingly normal day. Except when we were getting in the car -- running late -- I yelled at Silas "DON'T MAKE ME TELL YOU TWICE!" -- a real yell that surprised even me and immediately sounded ridiculous. He responded with a patient, if not cheerful, "Yes, Mama." And then after a few moments followed up, in a thoughtful voice: "Mama? I - I - I sorry... I sorry that I -- I sorry that you -- I sorry that you not nice, Mama." At which point I conceded that I was sorry too, and we talked about the sneak-attack-yell and agreed I should not do that again.
An hour or so later, I was standing with a friend who casually asked how I was doing, at which point tears sprang out of my eyes and wouldn't stop. And so she hugged me and while I was gratefully being hugged, I somehow poured my cup of coffee into my bag. Nice one. (Thanks, Hailey)
It is hard to juggle two kids -- who wants to fling tiny people you love through the air in hopes that you'll catch one just as you hurl the other one back up? In 4th grade gym class Mr. Sears taught us juggling with beanbags and tennis balls. After about two throw-pass-catch-throw's I dropped both balls and looked for something else to do.
What I am finding is that I tell Silas to be quiet a lot so Eden won't wake up, to go out while I try to get her to sleep, to wait here while I put her to bed, to please please be quiet and walk on your tiptoes for heaven sakes. What I'm finding is that I feel my patience pulled taught along with the corners of my mouth that are smiling less. What I'm finding is that the feeling of not providing what my children need (a nap, some soothing, to play, eye contact, a calm mother) makes me tense through all my muscles and into my bones, like a jolt of electricity that keeps reverberating. Right now my hair is slightly on end and you'd probably get shocked if you touched my arm. Eden is screaming downstairs, and Silas is refusing to nap.
But Eden did giggle an hour ago. And Silas -- despite our car ride earlier -- did race over, thrilled to show me the hand-print turkey he made in class. And somehow, we will, once again, make it to dinnertime, to bedtime, through mid-night walks to the bathroom and a night feeding, will make it to another morning, a fresh day --but I don't need to think about that yet. All I need to do is to hold Eden on my lap right now (I had to get her) and listen to Silas talking to himself in his room. That's all. That's right now. I think I can do right now. Who knows about a while from now -- we'll have to see about that -- but yes, right now is ok.
Especially when I look down at this: