Saturday, April 5, 2008

Dear Me

Oh, Dear ME,
Hold still.

The smallest of personally performed motion might make you throw up at any moment. You are in the vortex, I'm sure, of a storm the likes of which we'll never see again. Or possibly we'll see it every day until the children leave for college. But don't think about that now.

Three days ago our eldest daughter was in hysterics because the dog might die... in the next five years or so. "But that means he'll be gone by the time I'm 14!" she wailed. She has had tears for too many reasons to count in the ensuing days, and you know you are supposed to have some mommy wisdom for these 'tween crises: "Zoe made fun of my jump rope trick." "Mr. Robertson made the timed test harder for our group!" "I have more chores than the others!" Her highs are nearly as stressful as the lows, because her normally adorably gravelly voice goes shrill with excitement while her Mary Lou Rhetton-like body becomes a 60-pound ricochet of joy.

Today the normally sunny seven-year-old has some sort of hypochondriaical tummy ache so severe that she's walking around at a perfect 90-degree waist bend. She can't ride bikes or run down to fairyland or check on the chicks, of course, due to this tummy ache. She probably expects you to do something other than Pepto-Bismol and water and a suggestion to use the bathroom. You cuddled her, you soothed her forehead and suggested she watch a movie and let the other girls stick to the rowdy outdoor play, and all you got for your efforts was a wailing protest that they shouldn't have fun *without* her.

Couldn't you think of a way to make everyone happy? Probably your motion would fix it, but DON'T GIVE IN TO TEMPTATION.

Don't move.

Yesterday the four-year-old changed clothes not fewer than six times, with several layers of clothing each outfit, and threw the discards in Mt. Washmore for your laundry enjoyment. At this moment she is hiding in the corner of the office mumbling "I still feel angry. There's no way to stop the crankies." Over and over again. Her five-year-old playmate refused to share a Barbie something or other and she quite understandably lost her temper. You want her to take the time out somewhere out of earshot, but the chaos out there is too much for her preschool self. She, like the others, changes moods even more often than clothing.

Take a cue from this. Hide out in the office as long as you feel is appropriate. Or legal.

Thankfully the baby is sleeping peacefully. Do not be lulled into believing it's a sign of peace and order to come. Today is bound to be your undoing.

So hold very still.

Sincerely,
Speaking from Experience

2 comments:

Farm Chick said...

Oh dear me, indeed! I suggest a nap. Maybe another glass of wine, hehe. Some Calgon, perhaps??!!

Hold still.....

Misty said...

You poor thing... Wow. Bless your heart! I do suspect my own blood pressure rose a bit, reading this...