My aunt went to lunch with a friend the other day. She asked her how in the world she made it all these years without any wrinkles… and her friend answered her with this response, “It’s simple Ann, I don’t smile”. (In all seriousness, though…)
I am sorry lady with no wrinkles… I can’t live that way. I’d rather have wrinkles, and if they bother me so much, I will just pay for the botox.
“The most wasted of all days is the one without laughter”- e.e. cummings
The following story is for your entertainment only. Simply because there must be a reason that I lived to tell about this experience, if only for a chuckle.
So, here you are:
Yesterday I got the phone call that causes all things in life to come to a screeching halt… no, no one died… no, no natural disasters… it was worse… my child had the FLU! (enter dreaded, defeated music clip… dun, dun, DUUUN…)
My husband went to pick up my son from school, and I met them both at the house. As I walked in, I found my son passed out on my bed with gatorade in one hand and the other hand stuffed into a bag of “dill pickle lays” … because these are the foods that heal the body, people. Denver had to go to a scheduled meeting and I had to get my child to the doctor, so I scooped him up to put him in the van so we could start our voyage. It was 1:30 and our apportionment was at 3:30. I still had to pick up the two other littles. I arrived first at the church Mother’s Day Out program to pick up little guy, Dutchy, who hadn’t napped, but instead chatted it up with his other 2 year old buddies, because who needs a nap anyways? His teachers handed him over to me, and I walked him out to the “Flu-zie Mobile” and off we went to fetch Princess Sissy at Pre-k. Of course, per usual Dutch was asleep before exiting the parking lot of the MDO.
We sat through the excruciating phenomenon called “Car Pool”, where we create more holes in the ozone every single day in the name of education. We picked up sister and headed off to the clinic. As we parked the car, the 2 year old wakes from his precious sleep. But you know, instead of waking up as a pleasant human being, he wakes as a ferocious monster, ready to eat raw flesh. Gnashing of teeth and flailing of limbs ensue. If you are a parent, you have been there, haven’t you; the “nap that didn’t take”, the “wrong side of the bed” syndrome… there is nothing stopping this train of fury.
Meanwhile, I have one flu-zie, one rampant-fit-throwing-two-year-old, and one with her blood sugar plummeting into oblivion causing full on puddles of tears. You can believe it, the pediatricians office was THRILLED to see my brood walk into the room. Meanwhile, cute little mommy with one child is looking at me with wide eyes, as she spells out the color green to her one year old… to which I wanted to shout at her, “Stop trying so hard, it’s no use, it will be 6 years before he can spell G-R-E-E-N!”
After signing in, with screaming two year old, crying-hangry 4 year old and a dying 7 year old, we managed to claim a corner in the waiting room. We all settled down, then I realize the fit that Dutch was throwing was because he needed to pee! (You must have a little “back story” here, since potty training Dutch, when he wakes up and needs to go to the restroom, it pushes him into an angry rage, where he refuses to pee.) So, as I took him to the restroom, knowing the monster I was about to face, I sat him down on the potty, since standing up was not a viable option while his body jolted about. As he sat on the potty, putting up his best fight, wiggling and wobbling the very most he could, he managed to PEE ALL OVER ME. Yes, in my hair, down my shirt, and even…. on my face. A new parenting low friends. At this point my patience vanished into thin air and my rage matched his, and my inner “MOMSTER” came out. I cooled down, washed myself off the best I could in a public restroom, and went back out into the waiting room ready to face baby Einstein and his mother.
Dutch cooled off, I heated up… and then we were called back. After navigating the maze we arrived to our “holding cell”. Zadie is still nagging me about being hungry, but still refuses the two snacks I packed her in my purse, instead insisting on eating the brand-new package of mints she sees hiding in the depths of my purse.
The nurse, who looked only half-thrilled to be alive, asked me a slew of questions, and then pulled out the extra long Qtips to get “cultures” from Daxx’s throat and nose…. the sight of the extra long Qtip thingymaggigers triggered Daxx and sent him into a full on panic attack. His eyes welled with tears, he cried like his fingernails were being pulled out one by one, and he managed to bounce his body off of every surface of the room before I grabbed him and had to restrain him on the table. With pee dripping from my hair I found myself sitting on top of Daxx, keeping his hands to his side and his feet from kicking the poor woman in the face, meanwhile the glazed over nurse keeps saying “open your mouth Daxx” in the most non-convincing monotone voice ever uttered. Finally, I look into his bulging terrified eyes, and I say, “Daxx, I am going to call the police and they will come up here and arrest you if you don’t open your mouth…” and while I am making the most convincing threat in the history of parenting I cringe on the inside because here I am, at the end of my rope. I am finding no hope in the nurse to my left and am beginning to think I have been defeated by my own offspring, and they can’t even read yet.
Finally Daxx opens his mouth, and the nurse takes the necessary specimen samples. I release my son, walk to the corner of the holding cell and stand speechless. The inferno inside of me has reached the tip of my head, and my eyes have become tiny laser beams of fire with which I am able to burn holes through people…. I start seeing white…. I am standing at the edge about to jump, but no one is there to save me in the room, just the three minions that pushed me to this point of no return. Then, as I am standing, silent, staring into the corner of the room, eyes welling up with tears, waiting for the doctor to find me, hopefully not in fetal position, Zadie begins to ask for the mints… again….
I reach calmly into my purse and pull out two brand new round plastic discs full of mints and I proceed to pour ALLL THE MINTS ONTO HER LAP. ALL OF THE MINTS. ALL OF THEM. 2 BRAND NEW PACKAGES OF MINTS…. GONE.
I was done. Motherhood won that afternoon. Motherhood-1, me-0.
Finally the doctor arrived, and notified me that the flu test was positive, and I could go home and care for my ill son. I wonder what I looked like, standing there with crusted hair, fire blazing from my eyes, 1 million mints on the laps of my two young children, saying to her “I am about to lose my ever-loving-mind here!”.
I told Denver that I saw the edge that afternoon, and that possibly there needs to be a motherhood hotline that you can call to talk you down from such an experience. Someone start that non-profit please…
There are days friends when motherhood wins. It overcomes you. One too many tears, one too many demands, one too many hands pulling on you or bottoms that need wiped… and it’s okay. I saw someone post a quote that said “Just enough grace for today”…. to which I wanted to shout NO! … Guess what, there is more grace for me today than “just enough”…. according to the gospel of John WE have ALL been given “GRACE UPON GRACE”…. Grace abundant, more grace than we can fathom or imagine with every day and every breath…. and on this day, January 29, 2015… I needed grace upon grace upon grace…. again and again and again.
I am positive that motherhood is going to win another day, but I have hope that when it happens, I will cling to Jesus knowing that his grace is more than enough for me, even in the trenches of life.
You can buy this print at www.shereadstruth.com