At Seven Months: The Implosion

There is no way to sugar-coat it: this week sucked.

The kids would whole-heartedly agree. I don't know if it was something in the water, the lunar cycle, or June Gloom. But the kids and I were simply not in sync. And the denouement of our week's drama took place last night.

Having returned home very late from a rehearsal for Elizabeth's dance recital, the three of us were whipped. Understandably, their desire to play and goof off completely trumped any desire to catch some z's. I relented. Even though it was after 8:00 p.m., I sent them upstairs to play for a bit while I made lunches for school, whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough, fed the dogs, etc. I think that David noticed more than anyone that it was getting later and later, as he kept calling down to me, asking when I'd be coming upstairs. For about an hour, my reply was, "pretty soon. I just have a few more things to do."

David ultimately took his own shower, and I plodded upstairs at around 9:00. Once bathed and in our jammies, I proceeded to tuck the kids into bed as usual. Lullabies were sung, and hugs and kisses were exchanged.

The tranquility lasted for about one minute. Elizabeth called out from her room, "Mommy! I want to find my binkie" Note that her binkie (aka pacifier) had been MIA for about three days. I was in no hurry to hunt it down given that I am hoping that she'll wean herself from it one of these days. I replied, "sweetie, we can look for it tomorrow."

"NOOOOOO!!! I want my binkie!"

Typical back and forth took place, with me getting sharper and sharper in my replies. I finally said, "Fine. I will look behind your bed."

Sure enough, the white and green binkie was lodged between the bed and the wall, and down just far enough to make it difficult for even my skinny hand and arm to snake through to get it.

But I tried. I wedged my hand down as far as I could, but all I did was push the binkie down further from my grasp. I grabbed a small plastic kid's hanger, which only pushed the binkie further and further down. Eventually, the hanger slipped from my grasp. I grabbed the stem of a silk flower that was laying around, in a last-ditch effort to scoot the binkie up. The stem fell off, too. I gave up, and told Elizabeth that I'd already hurt my hand that that we'd get it tomorrow.

"NOOO!!!!" she screamed, with tears running down her face! The tantrum started. She screamed. She threw herself on the bed. And I lost it.

"FINE!" I said. I threw her end table away from the bed, causing the lamp to fall off. I tossed (literally) aside her small chairs, causing thumping sounds on the wall. And I angrily pulled out her trundle bed to see if I could get the God-blessed binkie. I was screaming at her the whole time.

By this point, David ran into her room, sobbing. "Mommy! I'm sorry for whatever we did! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

The three of us just stood there and stared at each other for a minute. I looked around her room, taking in the results of  my own tantrum. I assured myself that I was, in fact, the world's most horrible mother.

I manged to get her pacifier and hand it to her. I pushed the trundle bed back, uprighted her night stand and lamp, and put the chairs back. I crawled into my own bed and just lay there in a fetal position for a few minutes.

Then I got up, and asked David and Elizabeth to cuddle with me for a few minutes. David agreed. "I want to hug it out!"

"Me, too, sweetie," I said. Boy, did I ever want to hug it out.

So the three of us climbed into my bed, and started to talk. I began by telling them how sorry I was for having my own tantrum. I also asked them if they agreed that it had been a hard week. They both nodded their sweet heads.

"I wish more than anything that Daddy lived back down here with us," David said, between sobbing gasps. Elizabeth just spooned next to me, fervently sucking on her binkie, and looking up at me with her big green eyes. "I want him to work at Yahoo again!"

"I know, buddy. I know," I said. I tried to explain to him, as well as I could to ensure that he'd understand, that Glen's work at Facebook was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, noting that Facebook is likely one of the hottest companies to work for in the U.S., if not the world. I said, "well, the option always remains for us to move up north."

"No!" David said. "I love Foothill (his school) SOOOOO much!! We can move after I graduate!"

"Well, by the time you finish at Foothill, Elizabeth may still be there. And I highly doubt that Daddy will still be up north."

And then David reminded me again of how very wise he is. He said, "I just want us to talk about how we can do better and not fight so much and make this work while Daddy is gone."

After several hugs and kisses, I said, "I do, too. What do you think we can do?"

The rest of the conversation is a tad fuzzy, as we were all falling asleep by then. But suffice it to say we ended the conversation in giggles and tickles, which is a far cry from tears and shouting..David eventually decided that he wanted to sleep in his own bed, and padded off at around 10:30. Elizabeth and I fell asleep.

I woke up this morning, full of the hope and promise of a new day. Not so Elizabeth. She was highly put out that David had plans to go to a birthday party after school and that she was not invited. Note, of course, that I completely understand and respect the party host's wishes to not include siblings; at some point, there can be too many kids. I get it. And I tried to explain to Elizabeth that these were just the rules we'd have to follow.

She would have none of it. Meltdown #2 commenced. She refused to get dressed, and when she wasn't hollering at me, she kept her eyes affixed on the Nick Jr. television show, "Max and Ruby." David, wisely enough, kept quiet.

And then my temper flared again. "Elizabeth! I'm done talking about this! I know what it's like to not be invited to a birthday party! Believe me, it happened to me all the time! It's awful! I get it! I can't do anything about it!"

I huffed upstairs to gather a few more things, and when I came down, Elizabeth was still in her jammies. That did it. Threats of taking away her toys, television privileges, and other sanctions ensued. This only caused the tantrum to escalate. By the time we got into the car, it was 7:55 - much later than I am comfortable leaving for school - and I was beyond tense.

It also didn't help that while driving to school, David mocked Elizabeth's pronunciation of a few words, just because he thought it sounded funny. Long story short, we all parted company in a huff.

While I am overjoyed that Glen comes home this weekend and is home ALL next week, I can't help but think it might be safer for him to stay up north.

Safe in Mommy's Arms (or, Let me Cuddle with you While You're Still Little)

David and Elizabeth and I had a fabulous time in the Bay area over the Memorial Day weekend. We hit the road on Friday afternoon as soon as David was dismissed from school, and braved the Los Angeles freeway traffic with 100,000 of our closest friends and neighbors. It's becoming clearer and clearer that the kids are seasoned travelers. Just plop them in the back seat, hook up the DVD player, and they are good to go. Even though it was almost 11:00 p.m. when we arrived at the apartment in Newark, they were still pretty wired. Of  course, they crashed the second their little heads hit the pillow.

Whenever we head to Newark or, as the four of us refer to it, "up north," David and Elizabeth usually have just one goal in mind: to see their cousins Allison, Wesley, and Chloe. They are giddy (bordering on hyper) with excitement at the prospect of playing non-stop with the younger members of the Hastings gang. When their eyes were not affixed on the DVD screen, David and Elizabeth spoke of little else but of the cousins: when they would see them first, what they would do together, and how they would happily cause all sorts of mischief.

And so it was the case that plenty of cousin-related play time was scheduled into the weekend's activities. In fact, when we arrived at their house on Sunday afternoon, Allison, the oldest of the Nor Cal Hastings kids, announced to me that they were having a "Cousin's Sleep Over." Sure enough, it had been all arranged. My sainted brother-in-law, John, and his wife, Teri, voluntarily - and without any coercion whatsoever (well, maybe by their own kids, of course) - held court over a house full of kids ages ten and younger for more than 24 hours. By the time Glen and I arrived to their house mid-morning on Monday to claim (or otherwise take responsibility of the So Cal Hastings kids), the party was still going strong. Allison had beautifully braided both Chloe and Elizabeth's hair, the girls had tucked fresh flowers behind their ears, and all had embarked on a walk to a nearby lake with Uncle John.

As the afternoon rolled around, I anticipated that the kids might eventually start winding down. And, no, that didn't happen - not when there are tree houses to explore, trampolines to jump on, and water guns to fight over in Allison, Wesley and Chloe's backyard that can only be described as kid-inspired and kid-friendly wonderland.

But, at around 3:30, I heard the familiar siren song of a four year old calling from the yard. Elizabeth had either stubbed her toe, decked David, Wesley, or both, or tripped ... no matter the cause, she was weeping. Arms outstretched, she pleaded to me for an "Up Up!" and gazing at me with tear-filled blue-green eyes. I was a gonner. How could I resist?

We tucked into the large, comfy leather chair in their den, and Elizabeth curled up in my lap. I was secretly breathing a quiet prayer that she would fall asleep in my arms.

Wish granted: within 10 minutes, she was out like a light. My wonderful mother-in-law, Mary, quietly brought over a little blanket and draped it over Elizabeth, whispering, "I just want to cover her little piggies!" Within another 10 minutes, I was asleep, too.

I think that was probably one of the most wonderful snoozes that Elizabeth and I have ever taken together. I sat there, in the leather chair that refused to let go of its comfy grip on me, relishing how wonderfully small, sweet and innocent Elizabeth felt in my arms. I tried not to think too much about the fact that, one day soon, she'd be too big to do this. I tried banish from my mind the notion that when she's a teenager, she might not even want to be in the same room as I. I tried to stay present in the moment, and looked upon the sweet face of my beautiful little girl who, eyes closed, and binkie firmly between her lips, slumbered peacefully in my arms.