Mercy come mercy. You're not gonna believe the week I've just had.Monday
School started, which meant that we made our weekly commute (an hour from home), leaving at 7:30 in the morning. Bennis it was our first time doing this whole Classical Conversations thing and me being the tutor for the 4-7 year olds, there was some mental pressure and chaos and such as. Ultimately though, the day went beautifully and a good time was had by all. We pulled back into our "car porch" around 2 o'clock.
I love saying "car porch".
Set up school work at the kitchen table and the Sweet Pickle decides this would be a good time to start in with the "I hate school. School is the s-word." routine. It was alot of fun. I asked him to consider taking those ugly words into his room because they were hurting my ears. He decided to not go that route, leaving me to decide for him. So I carried him to his room while he reached out his exceedingly long arms and legs to grab at anything he could to slow my roll. Once in his room, he stayed with little resistance. I invited him to join us again in the kitchen when his voice was calm. The rest of the day went off without a hitch. I was feeling pretty smug and victorious because this new parenting stuff I was trying was WORKING! Probably because I was so good at it.
Started in much the same way as Tuesday, except this time I was met with mucho resistance-o about staying in the room. Boy oh boy was that tantrum impressive. I'd give it a 10. I stood outside the room holding the door closed while he vacillated between pulling on the other side and kicking/pounding/beating on it with toys. This, I do not recommend. I held on as tight as I could with sweaty palms, silently giggling on the other side. I was in shock. Finally, I open the door, (mostly 'cause it was slipping out of my wet hands), hands on my hips, still giggling, looked into his angry little face and said, "You know... I've never been the Mom of a 7 year old before, and I'm not quite sure how to react to this right now. So I'm gonna need some time to think it over. I'll get back to you. Try not to worry about it." Meanwhile, I'm calling in backup because my idea bank in my brain is giving me nothing. So much for being good at this. I couldn't reach my friend so in my Desperation Which Was Nothing Less Than Desperation, I called The Professionals. The lady I spoke with was wonderful and gave me some great tips and we made it through the day. Hah-lay-lou-juh.
I take a vacation. (translation: I go to WalMart all by myself.) While there, I receive a call from my husband telling me that the kids were playing Tug-of-War with baby brother in the middle. Sugar had a leg, Pickle had an arm and Puddin' had a problem.
Arrive at ER at 8am and learn that Puddin's problem has a name. It's name is Nursemaid's Elbow. In short, it's dislocated. The doc comes in, pops it back into place, and Puddin' is his happy and very active little self in no time flat.
All of the kids were playing outside and the two big kids came in, leaving the little one outside by himself for a little while. Big mistake. Big. Mistake. I walk out moments later to find that he has turned the hose on full blast and stuck it into his brother's lizard aquarium and it is filled to the brim with water. Poor little lizard is paddling like crazy at the top of the water near the rim so I scoop him out to safety, and Sweet Pickle says to me, still in tears, "Mama at first I was crying because I thought he was dead and then I started crying because I was happy he was alive." Sweet boy.
Still Still Friday
We have an errand to run and I call the little one over to put on a diaper. His "new thing" is that as soon as he's outside, he takes off everything except his t-shirt. He goes around calling himself "Naked Boy", like he's some sort of super hero. When I get him on his back and flip him up to get a diaper on I see that his bottom is dirty. Uh oh. I didn't change a dirty diaper. He took it off outside. Where is it? "When did you poop? Where is your diaper? Where did you put it?" I say in one breath. "I poop in grass", he says. "Show me". Sure enough, he walks me out to the spot in the backyard and there it is. I sigh, load the kids in the van and leave to run our errand.
The next day, the dog ate it.
Revolting? I know.
It pains me to even tell you that,
but I didn't want you wondering all day
what ever came of that and did I
leave it there forever.
No, I did not.
And yes, the dog is dead to me.
[...and that ain't all that happened on Friday either. I'm leaving out Friday night, which is a story all itself. Maybe I'll tell it to you someday.]
So if you're keeping score, that's:
When it comes to parenting, so much of the details of our futures
with our children is left out.
with our children is left out.
Information is knowingly withheld from us, because
who could handle it?
It's as if God is saying to us,
I'd tell you the truth, but it'd feel like a donkey kick.
Telling you would be like being kicked twice.
Mercy is His name.
Mercy is His name.
Lord only knows what this week holds for me but if it's anything like last week, I'm gonna need a nerve pill.