Monday, August 29, 2011


            I feel terrible.  I just yelled at Max.  He was bugging me for snacks, like usual, so I brought him a nice bowl of water melon (the only fruit he will touch) and because he is being incredibly picky with food he chewed it up and spit it out on the carpet.  That was the last straw for me.  I slapped his arm (which he barley felt because he had a sweater on) and I grabbed his little checks and gave him the evil mommy dearest stare.  The one that comes out when I can feel my blood boiling,
     “You don’t spit on my floor!”
   The words don’t look mean when written on paper, but I know he felt my anger.  It’s the anger I inherited from my father’s blood line.  My father had it, his father had it, but with each passing generation, it seems to lesson and I rarely can feel that rage anymore. 
             Max was sent into time out and instead of screaming (his usual bit) he is pouting and mumbling, “I don’t want to play,” under his breath. 
     Amazingly, his time out turned into a nap, so I am left alone with my thoughts and feel guilty.  Plus the fact that my neighbor just told me her seven year old had a terrible blow up at the library and her punishment was no TV that night, but she still took her to a friend’s house for a play date, right after the temper tantrum.  “Sucker!” I say.  But she responds, “Well, I can’t take away everything.”  I would have.  Makes me question, “Am I mean?” “Am I to strict?” But my own mother and father constantly insinuate that I am not strict enough. 
    “In my day we wouldn’t have that talk” or “You just knew you couldn’t get away with that.” My mother informs me.   But I don’t want to be too strict.  No.  I want to be strict, just not mean and scary…like I just was.  But how do I get him to understand that I truly mean business?  And why do I think anger will interpret me saying, “stop that!” 
I hope he’s not up there right now dreaming about a big scary mommy.  I want him to always think of me as beautiful rainbow mommy!”  That’s what he calls me.  Isn’t it great!  He’s been obsessed with the phrase “fart dart”, which he made up himself.  He even started calling me and his dad “fart dart.”  I said to him one day with a big frown, “I don’t like that name.  It hurts my feelings.  How about Beautiful Rainbow Mommy?”  He likes it too.  So now, if I spoil him or are extra sweet to him, he’ll call me that.  I should record it because I know that nick name is going to be short-lived.  He will have forgotten he ever called me that.  I’ll be sure to remind him but he’ll roll his eyes, get all embarrassed and run out the door to play with his friends, drive to school, marry his girlfriend, and raise his own kids.  His child hood will pass before my eyes and I just hope he will not remember the days I slapped his arm, squished his cheeks and acted like a “fart dart.”

Thursday, August 25, 2011


               Today I woke up feeling like it was going to be a great day.  Max has nursery school during which his little brother, Jay and I can come home and play and I can catch up on my DVR shows.  Then we have a play date with Terry and her two kids and then it’s the weekend.  I can relax a little with my husband, Jake home and on Saturday we go to a big birthday bash at my godmother’s house.  My parents are coming from upstate for the party and then they will come and stay with us on Sunday.  Everything is looking good.  It should be a perfect 70 degree weather weekend, not a cloud hovered over my house, my plans and my Friday dream of leisure. 
              An hour after I drop Max off at school, his teacher calls me to say he has a 102 degree fever and his lips are quivering while he is zombie like in a chair.  Ut oh! I rush to pick him up and he is miserable.  He practically falls asleep on the short car ride home.  He is burning up so I get the Tylenol and the cold compresses next to the couch.  Jay and I play upstairs while Max is asleep.  I cancel our play date with Terry and I pray that it’s just a 24 hour bug so we can still make it to the party tomorrow.  I get an hour of work done while everyone is sleeping, but I feel a migraine coming on.  I dread migraines!  It starts out as though a brick is sitting on my sinuses then the pain migrates over to my eyebrow, where the brick then turns into a needle sharp pain above my eye.  The needle starts to burn and the pain radiates over the entire side of my head and ear (whichever side the migraine decided to choose this time around).  The burning starts to turn my stomach and now the nausea has set in.  My only resort is to start popping Advil all day.  Then I try Advil cold and sinus because it’s a little stronger.  The nausea and burning make my stomach feel empty and with all the pill popping I figure I should eat.  Eating eases the pain temporarily since it is only a brief distraction from the constant pain.  The migraine is still there and I know I have to take the heavy duty prescription stuff or this pain may stick around for two to three days.  That’s right! Constant nagging pain for days on end.  The only problem is I know if I take it, I’ll be exhausted and comatosed while my little boy is sick and needs me.  I have to take the medication though….I despise this pain.  I remember when I was in labor with Max.  I was about six cm. dilated and going through contractions with no pain killers or epidural yet and I still said in the mist of a contraction, “I much rather go through this than have a migraine”.  With contractions you get a little break in between.  With a migraine, it never ends and I’m never sure when it will.  I take the medicine feeling slight relief in knowing that it will eventually help in about 2-4 hours.  This medicine takes forever.
              When Max gets up he seems to be feeling a little better, but my zombie like state is starting to emerge.  I text my husband to come home early.  It’s already .  Maybe he will have some sympathy for his wife and child? No such luck!  He texts me back, “the world has to stop when you get a migraine?!” “I have to drive my boss home so hang in there.” 
I’m not so nice, especially when I’m in pain, so a nice “F U!” got sent back to his cell phone.  I tell him he will be getting no “attention” this weekend and I know this will piss him off.  For the next 2.5 hours I grab my head and wait till he walks threw the door, so I can put the kids to bed and get myself to sleep.  He doesn’t look happy when he gets home but that’s just too bad.  When I eventually get to bed, my migraine starts to vanish.  Thank the lord, but I can’t sleep to well since the medicine is keeping me up.  I try but it’s on and off.  Just as my eyes are starting to feel heavy my little guy, Jay starts to scream for no apparent reason.  I get up and rock him to sleep for 20 minutes.  Its in the morning and my husband is still downstairs watching baseball play offs.  I hear him come to bed around and I fall asleep.  At I am woken up by Max screaming.  I rush in because I don’t want him waking up his little brother.  I hate that they have to share a room. I feel Max's head and he is burning up again, even though I gave him the last dose of Tylenol before bed and when I mean last, I mean last drop in the bottle.  We ran out and I figured we could get through the night without any more.  I was wrong and I am panicking.  I’ve heard about high fevers and seizures going hand in hand, so I shake my husband awake and tell him he has to go the store.  He is comatosed since he just got to bed 2 hours ago.  He wakes up cranky and mean, but my tone is crystal clear that I am not taking “no” for an answer.  He drops the “F Bomb” at me while I’m tending to our sick crying child with cold compresses to the head.  How dare he!  I can feel my blood boil.  God only knows what I would have done back in the day with no little seeds to raise.  But I am different now and I have to stay calm for my boys.  I take the abuse for a split second, but he will pay and he knows it.  He drags himself out to look for a 24 hour store and comes back an hour later with a bagel, coffee, and of course Tylenol. 
“Where did you go?”
                        “7 11” he grumbles
                        “But it’s right next door? You’ve been gone an hour”
                        “I forgot and drove all over the place”
We finally get to sleep but I know I have to decline the party.  Saturday we stay home, order in food and rest.  Saturday night was worse than Friday.  Max was up every 20 minutes screaming.  Sometimes for a tissue, sometimes because his throat hurt, sometimes for water, but mostly for the pain a fever brings.  We get no sleep what so ever.  I wake up and call my mother.  She tells me the party was great and I tell her our night was miserable.  I have to cancel our plans to have them spend the night.  That means no golfing with my father and no fun for anyone.  My husband begged me for some “action” the whole weekend but I refused and had to explain why, repeatedly:
 “You can’t come home early to your sick family?” “AND you cursed in front of your sick little boy because I made you go out for Tylenol!” then I have to hear him make up excuses to defend all this. 
“My boss was in another building, so I couldn’t just leave him there!” 
He did admit he was wrong for cursing in front of Max but then I get the, “Well you shouldn’t have written “F U” in the text.
            “Oh yes I should have! I felt it was appropriate!”
We are both cranky and tired, however, he got out of going to a party and he despises parties.  Plus! His in-laws aren’t coming over so I guess he made out pretty damn good this weekend, regardless of a few missed hours of sleep.