Oooooh dawggies.
Yesterday and I did not part on good terms. I mean, I was still able to plop down in a heated home, on a bed, with my kids safely tucked in… so in that regard, my world wasn’t destroyed or anything. But jeez Mcgeeze, it just felt like things were a bit off the tracks.
The Littlest was owly. So owly that at one point, he lodged a plastic book holder in the direction of the Middlest (I like to tell myself it wasn’t actually meant to hit his brother… of course not… it was merely thrown in his direction… right?!). It happened to hit him in the eye. The eye underneath his stitched situation. And he immediately fell to the ground and started screaming:
“Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow owwweewwwweeeeee!! I can’t open my eye! I can’t see!!! My eye is broken!!”
Meanwhile, the Littlest is screaming his curly mop off… likely shrouded in guilt.
I scooped up the Littlest, tossed him in his room. Okay I didn’t toss him. I promise. But I did pick him up, place him inside his door and attempted to close it as he clung to the handle, crying, “mooooommmmmmy!”
And then, I looked at the Middlest’s eye… the one he said he couldn’t open. And I immediately started thinking of every eye word I could think of… retina! Iris! White part!
“Okay, Jones… can you open your eye for me… please…”
“I can’t!!!! I can’t!!! It’s going to fall out!!!”
{screaming in background continues}
“Okay, lay your head on my lap sweetie,” I calmly asked The Middlest as my other hand gripped the Littlest’s doorknob with the strength of She-Ra in an attempt to keep the Beast caged.
“Barrett… could you please go get me something out of the freezer? Ice… a bag of veggies… a waffle… I don’t care…”
And back he came, with an Eggo.
I looked at the waffle, found one of the spots where the mixed berries were frozen into an edge, and pressed it to his eye socket… “that feels good, mommy.”
“Could you open your eye, bud? I want to see what we’re dealing with…”
“I CAN’T OPEN MY EYE!!!!”
mmmmmm k.
Chemo was worse. Chemo was harder. I am lucky to have these children. This moment is not as crappy as chemo. Surely he didn’t break his eye.
That’s what I tell myself when my children are “fitting”… I just repeat, “this is not as hard as chemo. I am lucky to have these children…” and so on. But seriously, perspective does not always work, people. Not when there is a Beast behind door one attempting to break through like something out of Stranger Things. And another child in my lap with a broken eye and a waffle on his face.
Eventually he opened his eyes. I’m certain it was hours later. It had to have been. Or 12 minutes. One of those. The Littlest was released from his sentence. The Middlest asked for a show and to “just be cozy on the couch.” And I went to make dinner/drink wine from a straw. A straw that fell into the bottle. And I had to pour two glasses just to save it from its fate. Darn.
Oh, and did I mention the refrigerator was leaking. Through the ceiling. Into the basement bathroom. And that dinner… I burnt it.
The Oldest and the hubs headed to basketball practice at 6:15. By 8 o’clock, the two Youngers were tucked into bed. And so was mama. I think I even fell asleep by 9.
It was a day.
No broken eyeball. And part of dinner was still edible, thank goodness. The plumber is coming today. And I danced to Shake it Off this morn while I downed my first cup of coffee.
Motherhood won yesterday. It beat this mama tired. But… today is a new day. And there were still enough waffles left for breakfast. Holllllla!!
It was actually comical. Not even just in retrospect. Like, once I knew the retina wasn’t detached or any other eye things (Nicole, are you laughing yet?) had gone awry, I could giggle. I could say, “this day is not for mama.” And I actually laughed about it.
My computer was on the fritz or something like the fritz. Leaking ceiling. Kids wanting to Hunger Games each other. Burned dinner. It was one for the books.
Today… I will get back up again. That’s what we are called to do. The big G man upstairs says, “hey, you get another chance at it!” Go mama, go.
I will get back up again.
How about you?
