Photo: Little boys at the Benjamin Moore playing with the sample tiles for flooring. It’s the little things that can keep a child entertained.

I confess that I kept a secret from you all last week, Dear Reader. For various reasons that I’m sure you’ll understand, I declined to mention that The Husband was away all last week on a business trip. That’s right: School Vacation Week and a week with no husband. The perfect storm. He left on Tuesday and didn’t get back here until 1am Sunday morning. Miserable, miserable week. I mean, I love my children… but that was a marathon.

I hope that such context will lend some credence to my story about Saturday morning.

You see, Major came bounding out of his room at 6:45 on Saturday morning. Screaming. The door and knob sort of slamming in a way I’d never heard before. And that was a pretty big problem because I’d just rolled over for some all-important snoozing, telling myself that my coffee could wait. I desperately needed the sleep. It was very  sudden, totally abnormal and, first, scared the hell out of me and then, second, really pissed me off.

“What in the…? What do you even…? What do you need? It’s too early to be out of bed!” (this is a true statement. Little boys, typically, sleep until 8 on the weekends. 9 on miraculous weekends.)

I need to use the potty!” The child screeched.

Ok, then! Use the potty!” I mirrored. Then I rolled over. “And then go back to bed!”

I heard the tinkle. Listened to him wash his hands while singing the ABCs too loudly. Then I heard him dance around in the bathroom before I repeated my order. He sorta slinked into the room and closed the door behind him. And I drifted back to sleep.

I heard him move around. I thought I heard him whisper to his brother. It as gonna be a bad  day. I heavily rolled myself out of bed and forced myself down to the kitchen. No more interaction before coffee. Lord how I needed coffee, even if I had to sacrifice more precious slumber.

I wasn’t half way through it before the door opened again. “I told [Minor] he has to get up and go potty, too!”

Why would you even do that?” 

“I don’t know!”

This was one of those moments, Dear Reader, that I am not proud of. Pure, unadulterated anger  came from a place in me that is deep, dark and usually well locked away. It manifested in curses not loud, but low… hot. Magma hot. They went straight  into my coffee  (which I could no longer enjoy) instead of at my children, thank God!

I listened to the second child go to the bathroom and then I went to the staircase, looking up with full mommy rage. “Go back to bed!

They did. Like the skittering of mice. Bumped into each other as they went through the door. It closed. The beds creaked as they entered them. But everybody knew that the time for sleep was over. I was angry, but that didn’t make a fool.

So now what?

7:15 on a Saturday. No good could come from little boys starting their day this way. We were gonna have to go.

To the grocery store. Because the best time of the week to be in Wegman’s is 7am on a Saturday. Trust me. I don’t know where the inspiration came from. Maybe it’s because I always feel like I need to be at the grocery store for no reason.

I went up the stairs, opened their door and said, “I lied. We’re going to the store. Get your socks and shoes on. Now.”

They hopped out of bed.  They did what I said with little shenanigans.  I put on some yoga pants and a cardigan, got my shoes on and my coat and walked out the door. Not before prepping a thermos of coffee. Everybody in the universe needed me to have portable coffee. We were out the door in 10 minutes.

I texted my mom before I left: “No bra. No list. Little boys in their pjs. Going to Wegmans. What a week.”

I started driving and Major asks, “are we going to Grandma and Grandpa’s?” Because little boys never leave the house in their pajamas unless we’re driving to Maryland.

“No. We’re going to the grocery store. And if little boys are good, little boys may earn doughnuts. But only if little boys are good!”

“I’m gonna be extra good,” Minor declared.

And they were. And, of course, because they were in their pajamas, everybody had to comment on their cuteness.

I… looked some sort of way, I’m sure. I mean, I wasn’t disheveled, I didn’t look indecent, but I wasn’t put together, either! Thank God for the locs: I can just pull them back with a little twisty tie and keep it moving. But our favorite butcher saw me with the boys, looked at his watch and then looked at me and chuckled. “Long week?”

“Hella long.”

Little boys took full advantage of “No List Mommy.” Goldfish, mac & cheese, chips and a gallon of chocolate milk made it into this house. Not to mention two different types of apples! What was I thinking?

We got back and I made them play outside for the rest of the day. Go. Run! Be! And then I made sure those little so-and-sos were in bed sharply at 7 o’clock! For real!

and nobody died.

Wanna know the one good thing that happened this weekend (outside of The Husband returning and over the child-rearing all day yesterday)?

All the birds started singing. Not the winter birds. There are spring song birds returning. My hawk is out hunting, too. And the geese are flying back in wonderful V-formation. I even smelled the local skunk this morning while I was warming up the car. Something good is happening, Dear Reader. I feel like it’s early, and I’m perfectly ok with it!

And no, I have no swatches to show. My color consultant wants me to go buy my Star Wars bedding before she helps me pick the right blue and the right yellow. So guess where we’re off to tomorrow? I’ve gotta get this done because The Husband has to paint next weekend or else! That’s not even the half of it.

Color Consultant: “Did you know that they make cool stickers that you can put on the walls?”

Minor: “Stickers?

Major: “Star Wars stickers?”

Color Consultant: “Oh yes. Your mom should go to [this website] and pick some out for you to put on your wall!”

“I want Star Wars stickers, Mommy!” “Me too! Can we have some?”

Conspiracy. Collusion. Betrayal. Motherhood, little boys and renovation got me feelin’ some sort of way, Dear Reader! I ought to paint the whole room lavender and call it a day!

Why do I have a feeling that I’m in for another long week, Dear Reader?


5 thoughts on “We made it. Barely.

  1. I cant even explain how i loved this, the memories if raising children. “Why would you even do that?” still said too often, curses still flow freely. Boys as men still boys. My lord.

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