I was in my sweatpants, ready to close the curtains on this miserable excuse of a day by noon. I figured that while the day was miserable, it would make a slightly amusing, if overly drama-Queenish blog entry for your fleeting amusement.
I had a whole list of things to complain about:
*Joel starting his day at five AM
*Owen banging things too loudly and gulping his juice like an inbreed guppy.
*Owen taking a GINORMOUS dump and then running around the house, without wiping or putting his pants back on. Or, naturally, washing his hands.
*Forcing Owen to wash his hands, and having him splash water in my face.
*Losing the phone number of a new friend, due to an earlier email deleting frenzy. Consequently, standing her up for a play date. I really like this person, and I'm sure she thinks I'm a flake.
*Going to the gym to do a Pilates class with Click and Clack (see earlier entry), only to realize that doing Pilates in super-short running shorts is a bad idea. There's lots of leg spreading, and I was starting to feel like Madonna about halfway through.
*Picking up the boys at the gym daycare to hear Joel wailing. "What happened?" I asked.
The worker explained to me that Owen knocked Joel down, "again." When I tried to get Owen to apologize to his brother, he said, "No apologies, and I want you to take me to Panera." Well, then. I've apparently raised an asshole.
*Finding out that they are charging parents five extra dollars a month to use the gym's daycare, on top of existing gym fees. Discussing this with the owner, I used the phrase, "shitty," and "whatever," and then burst into tears.
I got home, changed into my sweatpants, and prepared to ride the rest of the day out, playing Cars on endless loop, if necessary.
Then, the phone rang.
Joanne's voice was clipped and strained. "I need you to come to Calvert [the hospital] right now and pick up Zachary. We'll figure out cars when you get here."
Shit. I loaded up the boys, giving Owen a box of Kix to eat for lunch. As I pulled into the parking lot, the helicopter was landing to whisk Joanne's-six-month-old-baby, Austin, off to Children's National Medical Center. He had been sitting in a Bumpo seat on a table, and fell off, fracturing his skull.
I took her older son, Zachary, as well as my two boys home. I got to drive her minivan, since my Outback lacks the seating for three. And, damn. That was a sweet ride.I understand my friend Nikki, who calls her blog "Confessions of Minivan Lover." It was such a nice ride that I almost want to trade in my Subaru. Almost.
I got the three boys home, put Joel down for his nap, and proceeded to watch Owen be a complete and utter asshole. It's not like Zachary, who is a year younger, missed his nap, and has suddenly been whisked away from his family, needs Owen to rip toys from his hands and explain to him that he's not entitled to juice, because, "it's mine, mine, MINE!"
I was, plain and simple, ashamed of my son. Surely he could rise to the occasion. His lack of empathy can be breathtaking.
When Zachary's grandparents picked him up, I was grateful that he had the opportunity to return to the comfort of his own home. I don't think that his stay at our house was misery, but I'm pretty sure that he was ready for his own space, his own toys, and his own bed.
I was ready for a phone call from Joanne. I'm grateful to report that Austin has no bleeding, and
will likely be released from the hospital tomorrow.
This was not my best day. It was certainly not Joanne, Zachary, Owen, or Baby Austin's best day, either. Yet, a rough day is still a day of unquestionable blessings.
We're all still here. People are good. And, God is in control.