This is what I'm telling myself to be okay with the tornado of emotions I've experienced today. Not a roller coaster, people, but something that operates in three dimensions and sometimes causes children to be taken to new worlds. The kind of emotional tornado that rips your house up from the ground and kills a witch. And you are the witch. And to make matter worse, someone goes and steals your pretty shoes.
It began wonderfully. All lollipop guilds and kisses. Reminded that we were off to Nathan's house for the morning, Henry cheerfully plodded down the steps chanting "Na-no-na-no-na-no." He was even pleasant at breakfast, using his please hand signal (which is a cross between wiping boogers off his shirt and calling a curve ball) and requesting a banana--"He (pointing to himself), nana (points to banana)." This is the first time he has ever named himself. (I'm assuming He is his version of Henry and not just him speaking in third person. After all, his friends call him Hen-he.)
But as soon as we got in the car, suddenly I was like a stalled computer. My brain that annoying rotating hourglass. I missed the turn to Nano's house, and had to take the long way. And then when I arrived at Nano's, I completely drove past it. Oops.
After Nano's, I had to go to the doctor's office to get my shot and I was late. Why, you ask? Because I stood in the elevator for five minutes wondering why it wouldn't take me to the third floor. Seriously, I even began complaining about the elevator. (Meanwhile, Henry kept pointing to the buttons going, "One, two, one, two, one, two...Like that's not annoying.) It wasn't until it opened, and someone else got on, that I remembered for the elevator to take me to the third floor, I would, in fact, have to press the button labeled three. (Maybe Henry wasn't trying to annoy me. Maybe he was trying to tell me what to do. He is an expert button pusher.)
And after my shot, since I was close, I called a friend to see if she was available for lunch. I was emphatically told that "She did not have time to talk to me." House. Falls. On. Me. I was undone. Let me say that I do not fault my friend for this. She is racing against the clock to train her replacement before her baby arrives. Also, I've had the tendency as of late to be really needy. Really needy. Like a parasite--sucking life, sanity, and love for my son out of those around me. It has become painfully apparent to me that some people's lives are not lived in Elizabethtown. (Despite the little day trips they make out of their gracious love for me.) I got off the phone and was standing in the hospital's parking lot, crying, saying OUT LOUD, "It's okay, Elizabeth. You know she loves you. She is your friend. She likes you. She loves you. You are not the center of the universe. You are not the center of the universe."
Not wanting my being in the West End to be wasted, I decided to go to Babies R Us to get some safety closer thingys for Henry's closet doors. He has figured out he can reach the bi-fold doors from his bed and enjoys pulling things out of the closet. (Why else would he wake up cuddled up with hangers?) But when we got there, after I'd coaxed Henry out of his car seat and managed to help him climb down all on his own, I realized--I can't shop here. I'm not allowed to pick him up. There's no way for me to put him in the cart. And once again I'm crying over the loss of simply picking up my son. I felt a little like that cheesy kitty in those posters, falling yet trying to "Hang in there."
But similar to the way Toto can change your day, so can Elvis. As in, when you find that you are talking to yourself in a parking garage, and crying to your son, "My sweet boy, I will hold you again," it is good to turn on the car radio and hear from the King that "a little less conversation a little more action" is in order.
And the action I'm taking is to be cool with the fact that I'm phoning it in. And by phoning it in, I mean that when Henry wakes up tomorrow, he will have spent roughly 40 hours in the same pairs of blue shorts and tacky Curious George t-shirt. Who cares? He's two. At least I've changed his diaper. Lots of times. I promise I'll change his clothes tomorrow. I relaxed during nap time. Finishing one book and starting another with no meltdown in between. I endured the fact that unlike in the morning, "Stairscream" reappeared and it took us 25 agony filled minutes of sitting on the steps slowing bumping down one by one to descend the stairs after nap. I endured another day with Prague-like weather.
Seriously, were I to select yet another song for Sloan and me, it would have to be Ain't No Sunshine.
Ain't no sunshine when he's gone. It's not warm when he's away. Ain't no sunshine when he's gone And he's always gone too long anytime he goes away...And this house just ain't no home anytime he goes away.