Last week I had a blog-worthy day by 8 am. Not kidding.
The week after Christmas vacation is just rough. The boys have finally realized you can sleep past six thirty, they have stayed up until ten or eleven every night playing some intense game of hockey or marshmallow guns or bop it...they have spent days outside where they have sled and ice skated and played hockey and they have watched every hockey game or super exciting great hunt on TV. They had friends from Texas come play and they caught tadpoles and went swimming (indoor pool, not the swamp they found the tadpoles in but they did have to dump water out their boots) and watched their sixteen year old cousin play some intense high school hockey.
And then they went to school again.
They were bound to be tired.
We dragged through Monday. Almost literally. I think I fell asleep on the couch that night, but the day is such a blur it's hard to remember.
On Tuesday I realized that I had no food in the house to make the boys their lunches. Without bread you can't do much for sandwiches so I had decided to take the boys to school and S4 and I would then head into town. Husband heard there was snow moving in and wanted to get the most wood he could from the woods to heat our chilly farmhouse on the hill.
S2 woke up and banged his funny bone on the dresser. When he came down crying to tell me I had no sympathy for him. “I told you to have your clothes on the chair so they would be ready for you in the morning...its your own fault.”
Yup. I was that mean. I should have been nicer.
S2 ate his cereal with tears in his eyes. H was sure his arm was broken, shattered at the bone. No matter he was using it to eat with.
Then S2 couldn't find socks. He had a headache. His tummy felt a little funny.
Because I have dealt with him saying such things before, because I knew he was over tired and already planning his seven pm bedtime to catch up on that sleep, I told him to get in the suburban with his brothers.
As we viewed the huge water tower that looks like a grain silo in town, S2 began to cry silently. When we made it to the flag, he was crying loudly. By the time we made it to the fire barn, he was nearly hyper ventilating. All I could get from him was “MY ARM...sob sob...IS..sob sob...BROKEN!”
I parked. All his brothers stared at him as if he had lost his mind. I knew it was time for hard parenting. “Listen, you can sit in the suburban and be late to school or you can quit crying and walk in that door and have a great day.”
S2 cannot not ever ever be late.
He went into school, wiping the tears away.
I dropped S3 off in the kindergarten class and chatted with his teacher, the wonderful KE, and when I headed off I seen S2 headed straight for me. His shoulders were back, his back was straight and his steps were all but running in my direction. But it was his face, his red face with the tears filling his green eyes but not spilling out that really got me. He fell into my open arms and sobbed.
“What happened?” worry was gripping me.
“My...my...my...backpack broke!” he finally spit out.
I could not laugh. I could not.
“Well....I can get you a new one when I go to town today.”
“But it broke and how will I get home and it broke and I don't know what to do and it broke!”
A teachers aid over heard and told him she knew there was a brand new back pack in the office so she would hurry to get it with him. He would rather stay with me, he told her.
Even if I had been mean that morning.
We went to tell S1 goodbye. Every child in the hall stared at us, well, at S2 and his beet red face and the falling tears. I knew he wanted the ground to swallow him up. I knew he needed about 24 hours of sleep.
The teachers aid found a great looking ROOTS back pack. He took it sadly, it was not red.
When we walked to his room, the panic came on him again. “I feel sick,” he gasped.
“you are fine.”
“My arm hurts.”
“It'll be fine.”
“My stomach hurts.”
“You will be fine.”
“I think I am going to throw up.”
“Go in the bathroom and puke then.”
Steely nerves you need to be a mom.
I knew I had him at that. I knew he wasn't sick. So it was a complete surprise when he began to gag right there, next to his class room door.
His teacher, LC, whom we love, came running out of the room. “Are you okay?” she asked, concern etched into her face.
“My back pack broke,” he squeaked.
“Did he wake up like this?” she asked him.
“No, it started when he hit his funny bone.” I replied, not even catching the humor.
“That. Is. Not. Funny.” she pursed her lips and looked forward. I had to turn my back to not giggle in front of S2. It was wonderful to finally giggle, even silently.
So, to make this long blog end much more quickly, I took him home. He was completely calm when he got out of the school. He laid in his bed until noon. When he got up he grinned brilliantly at me and said “Wow, looks like I laid in bed so long I won't need to go to school. I could help you pick out my new back pack in town.”
Instead, he ate lunch and went back to school.
And the rest of the week went just well, especially since I found him an all red back pack to take to school the very next day.
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