Oh What A Day

It started like all others.

Running just a little late.

Rushing to make lunches, shower, get everyone ready and out the door on time.

A whole lot of, "shoes on, in the car, buckle up!"s.

(Whole lot means more than the usual 10.)

All day school for the three biggest kids, pre-school for the littlest, dentist appointment for me, grocery store.

Typical, typical, typical.

Except, that when I pulled a container of chili out of the freezer for Mark's lunch I realized it wasn't quite all the way frozen.

Huh.

Later he called me to check on the freezer when I got home again to see if it was ok.

Fine.

I'm actually a little frightened of the freezer right now.

Mark just got a big buck a week ago and guess what's lurking inside my freezer.

Just guess.

That big buck's head in a garbage bag, with the rack sticking out above it.

Ew.

So, when I've been reaching in there I avert my eyes as best I can, hold my breath (I don't know why but I do), quickly reach in and grab out what I need then slam the door shut.

Like I'm afraid it's going to jump up and bite me or something.

Or else whisper, "hellllpppp meeeeeee" in a creepy soft voice.

Yeah I know, overly dramatic.

The point is, today I checked the freezer and found that the food was defrosting.

So, I had to reach back and play with the dial to see if it got bumped by big big rack as he struggled to break out of the freezer.  The dial is awfully close to those horns.

I think this calls for a discreet picture...

I was discreet.  I didn't include the part of the head I keep staring at through the garbage bag, as much as I keep trying to look away when I get in there.

Anyway, my chore was to clear out anything of value in the dying freezer to haul up to my in-law's freezer while they're out of town.

All while avoiding that sad nose inside the garbage bag.

Oops, I told you what I keep staring at.

I'll admit, I was patting myself on the back for handling that chore when I greeted the boys getting off the bus.

And guess what?!

Mom of the year forgot all about the Quality Work Assembly today for Carl.

He earned it for not one, but two assignments.

DAMN IT!

I was apologizing profusely as he kept listing all the parents who WERE there.

Salt in the wound little buddy.

As I'm still reeling from that terrible lapse, I look up at the clock.

4:02pm.

DAMN IT!

I was supposed to pick Sarina up from school at 4:00 after getting some extra math help from her teacher.

I arrive a mere 10 minutes late.

While I'm in the main hallway at school waiting for Sarina, I leave the rest of the brood out in the car.

And, as luck would have it, Miss Elsa rolled backward out the suburban door.

That's a good height for a little body to tumble out of.

Then back at home, feeling moderately confident I can pull the rest of the night off when I call the pediatrician's office to try and find a time to get Sarina in and her planter's wart looked at.

Oh happy day, they can get us in at 5:50pm.

So, race through dinner prep, order the little ones up to shower, ask grandma to keep the kids while I take Sarina in to get her foot worked on.

Fine.

Make it out the door with a good number of, "I said now!"s (in a mean threatening voice).

Pull up to grandma's.  Two little ones pop out of the car.

Carl refuses to get out.

I try to pull him out.

He won't go.

I threaten, beg, plead.

Nope.

He says, "It's because I love you too much mama."

Which makes the following even worse.

I'm stretched in the middle between a big girl scared the Dr. will have to dig out her wart and a little boy stuck like glue to me.

I pulled him out of the car, locked the doors and tried to drive off.

But I couldn't take it.

I caved and ordered him back in the car.

Which lead to WAILING (Sarina).

Then me screaming.

Truly.

At the top of my lungs.

It really is a great stress reliever.

We make it to the stop light when he says, fine take me to grandmas.

I u-turn and drop him off.

And as I pull away he's standing in the driveway, with his back to me, arms folded across his chest.

Poor buddy.

He went into her side yard and hid.

I think to compose himself so she didn't see his tears.

Triple DAMN IT.

The rest of the day was fine.

But to review the fails here: dead freezer, forgot quality work assembly, almost forgetting a child at school, smallest child tumbling out of parked car door, screaming at the kids multiple times in a single day (I really prefer to keep it to once a day), trying to drive off and leave my little boy crying in the driveway (because he just loves me too much).

I think that last one will haunt me for years.

DAMN IT!

It was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

Even here in Olympia.

Reincarnation

I'm not sure that I believe in reincarnation.

I do believe that when you miss someone who's made the big move to heaven, sometimes you seek to see characteristics of that person in the people that surround you.

For me, the people I watch most are my little people.

I've said before, that when my dad was battling colon cancer Sarina was my perfect distraction- chipper, happy, asking millions of questions, full of life.

I found that explaining things in a way that wouldn't scare her, helped me to feel less scared about what was happening.

And Carl was my sense of peace.

All I had to do was look into his soulful eyes that seemed all knowing, with his dimpled chin and ridiculously wonderful chubby cheeks and I felt good.

Regardless of what was going on around me, those two little bodies carried me along.

But my Charlie Watson never once got to meet his Grandpa Watson.

They must have hung out in heaven before Charlie was sent down to us.

Not only does Charlie Bear look uncannily like his grandpa,

he's drawn to many things that seem odd for a little boy- but make perfect sense knowing my dad.

Am I looking for the connection, or is it just so very undeniable?

Examples you want?

Well, a little while ago I pulled a box of things from my grandma (my dad's mom) and washed them up.  My house is filled with her handi-work- she was an amazing artist of all crafts from macrame to embroidery to quilting.  There was nothing she couldn't do and with an incredible eye for detail.

So, I washed up these place mats she'd embellished and had them drying over my claw foot tub in my bathroom.

Charlie came up to me with a look of wonder in his eyes holding out one place mat, asking where I had gotten that, like he'd found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

I told him he could keep it

and he looked like he'd won the lottery.

His face just glowed as he walked away hugging that piece of cloth.

Shortly after Mark and I were hunting around for a wooden box that he'd promised Charlie.

The promise came after Charlie pined, repeatedly for a wooden box he's seen (and keeps returning to see) at the Olympia Farmer's Market.

We couldn't find Mark's box but I did re-discover an old carved wooden duck decoy that had been my dad's.

I knew Charlie was the perfect one to have it.

He's been toting that thing all over the place, like it's a stuffed teddy bear.

The kicker was last night.

I was marveling that he was so content roaming around, n@#$d {I tried to get rid of that word because some dirty bird googled that plus little boy-sick-o!!} as a jay bird, when I noticed that he'd piled up all of his favorite place mats from my grandma.

Painstakingly he laid each one in a ring around the edge of his bed, then climbed into the center and snuggled into a naked little ball.

I coaxed him into letting me take his picture, thankfully he pulled on clothes for the picture.

See the duck?

It was his idea to put it into the picture too.

I know my dad would love watching him.

Of course, my dad loved all kids and would love the unique individuality of each and every one of them.

But I think mostly, I wish I could watch him watch this little boy who seems to have so many funny characteristics his grandpa had.

Would he notice the similarity?

Would he identify with him?

Or would he just be another one of his sweet grand babies?

I know he can see him.

And sometimes,

when I want to see my dad,

I watch my Charlie marvel in a pretty bird,

spot some obscure object from a crazy long distance,

and delight in unique treasures that wouldn't turn most 6 year old boys' heads.

It's going to be fun watching who he grows into being.

I see so much potential for his special little soul.

A good smack

Oh the joys of parenting.

After a day spent seeing off the big game hunter for a few days, running errands to get a contractor's license secured for his big new venture, attempting to make the Honda-Car suitable for another to drive, replacing the already-lost-lunchbox of Mr. Big-Kindergartner, and trying to hunt down the perfect jacket for said Mr. Big-Kindergartner (that is the correct size), seeing the rain return, and trying to keep chipper for the kids while keeping everything in order and having family movie night (minus one very important family member)...

I would say, come evening time my nerves were a bit shot tonight.

I bribed the kids with movie (Charlie picked The Miracle and it was a good one) and popcorn if they bathed and got into their jammies.

It was after bath that the big smack-down came.

It was truly unintended.

Littlest Miss Sweet Pea was chirping rather loudly.

Ok- she was SCREAMING.

Just to make noise,

I wholeheartedly believe.

I calmly and pleasantly asked her not to do that again.

She screamed again,

in my face.

Maybe it's the hormones- alright it's totally partially PMS.

Anyway, I don't know when this became instinct, but without any real thought my hand whipped back and smacked her freshly bathed, still damp little bum.

On bare skin.

Poor poor baby.

I truly thought that the second largest beach towel we own she selected to wrap around her warm little body was covering said little bum.

But there was my handprint welt on that sweet little cheek to prove I connected.

And boy did she howl.

Rightfully so.

She was perfectly happy screaming.

Between sobs she informed me that {talking about spanking} that I needed to do, "little ones on little people."

My poor little sweet pea.

She's one of my very very favorite little people.

Sometimes I forget just how little she is and expect more out of her than maybe I should.

Next time I'll try to keep it "little on little people" even if they have a personality as big as Texas.