So this is a dirty laundry post. You know, the kind where you have one of those guilt ridden days because you did something you weren't so proud of? Yeah. Dirty laundry day.
Allow me to set the scene for you. This morning, Cole's alarm went off (5:30 am). It does this every morning, except on weekends, and it almost always pulls me out of a very deep, dreamy sleep. Well, Jack gets up at 6, so there's not much me time in the morning. I try to pull my bed-headed self together so I can function in the role of mother, but sometimes it just doesn't work.
Some mornings I feel like breaking things.
Flash forward to 8 am, time for Jack to go to school. The morning went well, considering. Breakfast was alright, I didn't look too homeless walking out the door (I actually brushed my hair) and James resembled something of a well taken care of child. We get to the school, and Jack informs me that his water bottle is in the lunch room. My response? Go get it.
"But mom, class is starting, you go get it!"
No.
Some little button got pushed. Something happened. Something broke. I may have heard the snap, I don't really know. The next thing I knew, I had Jack thrown over my shoulder (in front of the entire school, Jack's teacher, and the principal), and I was marching his sassy little behind to the lunchroom to get the water bottle. The entire time, Jack was screaming. I felt like a she hulk; eight months pregnant, toting a 50 pound sack of solidness to the lunch room.
When I put Jack down, I said, "Go get your water bottle." He cried, and yelled that he didn't want to, and pointed to where he had left it. I just pointed in return, much like the ominous ghost from Christmas past. No words, stoic face, finger pointing in water bottle direction.
Jack flopped on the ground, and continued to throw a fit.
(PS? The #&%@ water bottle was like TEN feet away!!!)
Long story short, Jack may or may not have gotten pushed in the right direction, he may or may not have face planted in the process, and after many crocodile tears he may or may not have been late to class.
I'll neither confirm nor deny what happened.
The point is, he is 5. He is 5, and he threw a tantrum over a bottle of water.
The point is, I am 27. I am 27 and I threw a fit over my 5 year old throwing a tantrum over a bottle of water.
The point is, there is no point. Sometimes life just dazes you over, and you move forward like a hulk, with some kind of baggage thrown over your shoulder. All the while the world is staring at you thinking, "What in the world?..." Some days it really is just about surviving. Breathing, focusing on what you can focus on and hoping the rest of the day somehow works itself out.
Other days are clearer.
You can enjoy the clarity of those days.
That clarity helps you march your way through the blurry times.
You know, the ones where you throw a tantrum like a toddler then sleep it off.
We've all done it.
Well, at least I'll admit to it.
Here's to a clearer day tomorrow.
And maybe my kids will actually decide to sleep in.
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