This was going to be titled: This Is Why I Love My Children So Much, but because of later details, I had to change it. In this telling of some of today's events, you will be able to understand each child and his/her personality just by these few expressions and words from the lil' darlings:
This a.m. Ajers is still not 100 percent. Yes, he probably could have gone to school, but when he came into my room at 6 a.m. with another headache, I decided no school for him. So, he crawled into bed and we both fell back asleep.
Twenty minutes later maybe, I see/hear/feel the bedroom door open and sense another arrival. It's Tukey. I whisper to him to come to the other side of the bed because Ajers was next to me.
He shuffles his little feet over and climbs in next to me. And let me just tell you he sleeps in his little boxer briefs most nights with no shirt, and he's still got that cute little boy body that's all warm first thing in the a.m. He's warm and tired and whispers to me in his adorable husky little Tukey voice:
"I'm so lucky I got in your bed in time."
Me: "In time for what?"
Tukey: "In time to snuggle!"
Next, after some awesome snugglin' and more snoozin' with my boys, I slip around Ajers and ask him if he needs a cold cloth or some tissues. He doesn't. I tell him to keep sleeping and that I am going to get his sister up for school.
Ajers to me: "I love you and appreciate all the things you've done."
So, these two unexpected yet beautiful gifts from my boys arrive this morning, and make their way straight into the center of my heart. It's a great feeling to be loved that much in so few minutes of the day.
(queue horror music from Chainsaw Massacre or Friday the Thirteenth -- Ooh! That's tomorrow!)...
It's on to Diva's room.
And I knew there was no way in hell I'd get the royal lovey-dovey treatment from her. And it kills me. Absolutely devastates me to know that already, at the age of seven, at the hour of seven, I'm getting an earful of shit from her. I am having flash-forwards of the angst we will endure with each other when she is a tween, a teen... ugh... I am frightened.
And rightfully so.
I go in and as I do every day, I gently crawl into bed with her.
SIDENOTE: I probably have told you that when my beautiful and wonderful mother, whom I love dearly to this day (yes, she's reading this), used to get us up for school, she would throw open the bedroom door, flip on the light with no warning, and in not a very quiet or calming wake-up voice, she would say, "Get Up!"
Cringe. Ouch. That hurt.
So, I promised that I would never wake up my children in that manner. Mom, I love you; I know this wake-up-call tactic did not scar me for life, but whoa, it was tough!
So, done with sidenote, back to story...
In Diva's warm bed, I snuggle up with her and remind her that her Uncle Boomer is here! And that today is going to be a fun day at school! And that I love her! And that it's time to get dressed and pee!
Reaction. Not good.
See, she went to bed mad at me. For No Reason. So, she wakes up pissed at me. For No Reason. And here I am being so sweet and kind and patient, and THIS IS SO NOT MY STYLE, but I am putting out the white flag this morning. Hell, I wanted a three-for-three today.
Didn't get it.
Instead, she starts whining. And bitching because the clothes are not the clothes she wants to wear.
"Okay, sweetie, you go to the bathroom and I'll pick out something else for you to wear."
Into the bathroom she goes.
She doesn't come out.
I knock. "Honey, sweetie-pie, come on out. I've got some nice clothes for you!" Yes, my smile pasted onto my face is beginning to crack a little.
"YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO COME GET ME! I WAS GOING TO COME OUT WHEN I FELT LIKE IT!"
"Okay honey. That's fine. I'll go back into your room and wait."
She comes out.
"I DON'T WANT TO WEAR THAT!"
"Okay, that's okay then. You can pick out anything you want, as long as it's long pants. It's going to snow today!" Smile plastered. Look at clock. Dear God, 24 more minutes of this shit.
More bitching and griping about God knows what, and then I finally say, "Okay. Here's the deal. Put on whatever you want, I don't care what you wear. But get down stairs in five minutes. If you're not down there, then I'm taking the candy out of your lunch."
Five minutes later, she's down, grumpy as all hell, but dressed!
Nineteen freakin' minutes to go. Smile and wave boys, smile and wave, I think to myself (Madagascar Quote).
Our neighbor Abby comes over. She's in fourth grade and a couple days a week I get her on the bus since her parents have to get to work early.
"Hi Sweetie, do you want some waffles?" I ask.
"Sure," Smiley, bright, lovely, grateful Abby replies.
"I'M YOUR SWEETIE! NOT HER!" Diva yells.
What I want to say is, "No, you're not my sweetie; you're an ungrateful bitchy little girl who is driving me crazy and making me incredibly sad right this minute."
What I do say, "You're right honey, you're my sweetie!"
I grab the chocolate chips because Diva does not eat butter, or syrup, but I put literally about 8 chocolate chips on her two or three waffles (see, I'm making excuses for myself here already)
I sprinkle the girls' waffles with the chips.
"SHE GOT MORE!"
"Sorry sweetie. Here, take THE WHOLE FUCKING BAG AND LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!"
Nah, I didn't really say that, but man, if my mind shot out the words before I had time to process them, I would seriously be in deep Department-of-Children-and-Family-Services shit right about now.
So, long story totally overplayed and too long, when she leaves for the bus, I'm at the last strand of rope and I'm like, "Goodbye. Have a nice day."
She has the meanest, ugliest frown on her face like she hates me, and boy, this does really kill me to rehash this because maybe we seriously do have mother/daughter 'issues' (PS to MY mom... I totally threw in that word ISSUES because I knew you'd 'get it!'). I just wish she wanted my love and affection the same way the boys do; I wish she appreciated me and said kind unexpected things to me like the boys do. She does sometimes, but I mean, if this is what it's like when she's seven, how is she gonna be when she starts her rag for cryin' out loud? I don't know if I can handle it?
I'm kind of scared she's going to be the rebellious teen who tries all sorts of drugs to spite me, breaks all kinds of rules, and I'm afraid I won't be able to control her.
Tell me I'm crazy, and that you have a child that causes you the same concern and angst. Tell me I'm not a bad mom (avoiding puke aside!), tell me she'll outgrow it and will someday appreciate how much I love her.
When she's ready for the bus, she is fuming at me, but knows she can't just stomp off. I tell her we're going to have to have a talk later, and for her to go to the bus now. She puts her arms out, rigidly, defiantly, for a hug, because she doesn't want to leave without knowing I love her, that I'll always be there for her, no matter what. And I will. I promise you Diva. I'll be there for you always.
I hug her tightly, tell her I love her so much, and to have a good day at school. We do our little exchange of special "Kiss-for-my-pockets" and I tell her I love her again.
And then she's gone. And I miss her. And my day is not what it should have been. Not how it should have been gauging by how my boys reacted to me first thing this a.m.
(I'm going to go look at her beautiful, sleeping angelic face right now, and remember how much love I felt on that day she was born, the day when I had first thought I had just delivered another son, only to discover I had a beautiful, beautiful little precious girl to love with my whole heart for the rest of my life.)