Monday morning:
Mo wakes up crying because he has (again) peed the bed. Mom showers him, finds him some new clothes, lets him go back to sleep in guest bed. Mom off to work.
A minute later, Oscar wakes up crying with a bloody nose, even though we ran the humidifier in their room all night. For some reason the heat vent in their bedroom blasts 3x harder than any other room in the house, even with the vent closed.
Collect pee sheets from Mo’s bed. Leave Oscar’s blood-stained sheets in place (hey, it kind of matches the stain on the other side now). Realize Mo (kindergarten) needs white T-shirts for class project. Thinking, there’s still time to hit Target on the way to school. Try to get Mo out of bed. Already past his normal alarm time, but, won’t get up. Mo pulls sheet over head and starts kicking and screaming. Oscar announces he doesn’t want to go to school today.
Carry Mo downstairs (still kicking and fussing) to eat breakfast. While waiting for Moses to simmer down, I pack their lunches. Oscar announces he doesn’t want his leftover mac and cheese for lunch today. He wants me to make him a sandwich instead. I tell him there’s no time and he’s going to love the mac and cheese. He punches his lunchbox in anger and earns a time out.
Moses is still doing a pretty good impression of a zombie having a seizure. Lots of moaning and body twisting. Won’t tell me what’s bothering him, much less what he wants for breakfast. Oscar announces he doesn’t want the jacket I picked out for him. He wants his blue “Target” jacket with the number ’37’ on the front which is, of course, nowhere to be found. I tell him I don’t know where it is, he has to wear this one or pick something else. He gets angry, I WANT MY BLUE TARGET JACKET!
So I get angry right back, I DON’T HAVE THAT JACKET, STOP SAYING NO TO EVERYTHING AND STOP ASKING ME FOR THINGS YOU KNOW I DON’T HAVE! And I immediately want to rewind and do that over without the yelling but it’s too late. He tries to hold back the tears for a couple seconds and then slumps to the floor with a betrayed look and a pair of very leaky eyes.
Fast forward to Target parking lot. Oscar insists on standing inside the cart, Mo (almost 2 years older than Oscar) wants to be in the child seat. Fine, everyone’s situated. I whip the cart around (yes, way too fast) to head into the store and Oscar promptly loses his balance and splits his lip open as his face mashes into the side of the cart. So we zoom into the Target bathroom, me and my bleeding, screaming child, and I’m realizing the parent-of-the-year award has just slipped out of reach. But, white T-shirts in hand, we make it to school just as the bell rings.
Tuesday morning:
Everyone wakes up happy and ready to face the day. No tantrums. No impossible demands. Breakfast is tackled early and with gusto. Plenty of time to finish Mo’s homework together, read some books, get in the car early and walk the kids into daycare (Oscar) and up to the schoolyard (Mo).
Praying for less Mondays and more Tuesdays.