I totally bailed on going to church this morning. Completely gave up, threw in the towel, put the kids back in their jammies, and turned on Connie the Cow. Church is so important to me, but this morning I just couldn’t hack it. Anyone who has ever gone to church with little kids has had a morning like I am having, and while all my reasons are good for not going, I wish things had gone differently.
Jeffrey was up last night (a lot) complaining his ear hurt, and ended up in bed with DFM and I around 5 this morning. That was the end of my sleep; he is a flippy, floppy, alligator in bed, and another human cannot fall asleep next to him. By 6:30 Eric was up too, because Jeffrey was making so much noise about a toy he saw at Walmart yesterday that he cannot go on living unless he gets it today. (Not going to happen!) Within fifteen minutes they were fighting over an empty laundry basket (why?) and DFM was in the bathroom hacking and making gross noises that did not help a morning-sick mama. Sweet husband comes back in the bedroom where I am pretending it is possible to get a few more minutes of sleep, and tells me that he has an ear infection. (probably true- he gets them easily, and we have all had colds). Great. I know he is not going to church now.
In the kitchen, my head wars with my body over who is going to win the barf battle this morning and I fix breakfast for the kids while I chew dry saltine crackers. The kids both turn their noses up at the food, Eric flat doesn’t eat anything, and Jeffrey picks at the eggs and complains, even though he gobbled the same meal yesterday and said it was his favorite. I win the barf battle for now, and get Jeffreys church clothes out, but cannot find any clean underwear for him. There are three laundry baskets of clean clothes in the family room, but of course, his undies are in the bottom of the third basket; now there is laundry all over the room, and the kids decide now is a good time to play “laundry-wars”. First loss of composure on my part ensued. Poor kids. Eric goes to his room, and I get Jeffrey dressed, accompanied by much complaining about the socks I chose for him. I ask DFM if he is going, and he says he doesn’t know (that means no). Ok, so do I go with both kids and my barf-bag, or just Jeffrey and my barf-bag? I never actually got to the point of making that decision…
Every mom know that as soon as she goes in the bathroom, chaos breaks loose. Not only was there kid chaos, but when went to get my hairbrush out of my drawer, the whole drawer came out, and the bottom fell off of it. Hair stuff everywhere, broken drawer, and I will not talk about how I asked DFM to fix the drawer two weeks ago. When I went to clean up the floor, the stray snarls of hair and stuff made me start gagging, and my body won the battle over my mind. Ok, so I clean myself up and look in the mirror for the first time today. Oh, lovely! Swollen face, big pregnancy zit on my chin, watery eyes from barfing, and I went to bed with wet hair last night. Indescribable. At this point I begin to question my sanity, and wonder if its worth it. I actually got as far as trying to comb my hair, but when the brush kept snagging on snarls and making my eyes water even more, I threw the brush in the tub, and it broke into three pieces. The kids are banging on the bathroom door, and Eric has both hands shoved under it so I can see his little wiggly fingers, while he hollers for me to come out.
I give. I am done. When I fling open the bathroom door, I am sure I look like a crazy woman. Big, wild fuzzy hair, red teary eyes and disheveled jammies. Second loss of composure of the morning (not even 8:00 yet- good for me!) Jeffrey looks confused when I tell him to go put his jammies back on, and I announce that I am finished, done, not going, giving up, caput. Everyone have a nice day, mom is done.
It’s quiet here now. I am hiding downstairs, and except for DFM coming down to put his arm gingerly around my shoulders, then leave without a word, no one has come near me….I think the kids are scared of me! Big, wild, crazy-eyed, crazy-haired mama? Who can blame them? Maybe next week will be better… It can’t get worse; can it?