…there’d be days like this. You know: those days when you get to the end, sink down on the couch and just thank God it’s over? Yeah, those days. We just made it through one of those days, and thank God it’s over!
B3 is many wonderful things. He’s adorable, funny, sharp as a tack, and so gentle and loving. And at the same time, he’s a three year old boy who’s been in foster care. That’s a whole ‘nuther can of worms. B3’s been with us for 11 weeks tonight (wow!), and I’ve been with him almost 24-7 for that entire time. I think I’ve left him with Brian 4 times and Mama once in that three months. What this means is that he seems to be attaching to me quite well, and after about two rough months I seem to be having more good days than bad. There are exceptions, of course, but by and large he and I have a good idea of how things need to happen in order to get to 9 PM happy. Unfortunately, Brian is with B3 about half that time, so they’re only about half as far along the line. Which means that lately every time they’re together someone ends up in time out or yelling. Usually it’s B3.
Today…good grief. One of those days. I may have watched one too many episodes of Mad Men last night and was a bit less than eager to get out of bed this morning. I decided to shower at nap time so I could actually enjoy it. I headed to work and spent the next two hours trying to keep a 3 year old, a 2 1/2 year old, and an 18 month old from swinging off the fan while the five month old refused to drink his bottle or take a nap. The 18 month old took three years to eat some oatmeal. B3 refused to eat a cinnamon roll for breakfast (hello? who prefers cereal to that?!) before heading to the arboretum with Brian for the morning.
And then…the tantrum began. Refusal to put on his shoes, refusal to go use the bathroom, refusal to….well, everything. Ever been involved in a two and a half hour tantrum and time out? It’s just as fun as you would think. By 10:00, the 18 month old was headed home with a fever over 103. Somewhere around 11 I was refereeing another fun father-son battle of wills while holding a squirmy baby and trying to convince him (again) to drink his bottle when I heard that distinctive sound that means someone is going to have to change a diaper soon. Since he’s definitely gifted me with several poopsplosions before (like last week), I almost said out lout “Man, I hope this diaper holds until he takes this last ounce or so.”
About 5-10 minutes later, I got up to put the little guy in the swing, and as I shifted my hand under him, it felt wet. I immediately said “Oh, God, no!”…and realized that my hand wasn’t the only casualty. My only clean jeans, the baby’s outfit, all lost to PoopTuesday. I will say I instantly had the attention of every kid in the room, even mine who was serving yet-another-time-out. From there the rest of the day went downhill. I’m lucky my Munchkin Coalition is well-trained enough to handle it when one small boy (mine) loses his mind at lunch, crawls under the table to avoid going to nap and then plays for two and a half hours instead of napping. My nap time shower? Lost to thunderstorms and a tornado warning. Instead I managed to develop a migraine so bad I couldn’t even function.
Other than a brief period from 4:20-5:28, the rest of the day progressed the same. I taught a lesson listening to the strains of one screaming boy pushing his daddy’s buttons, Brian escaped to the store to pick up (sweet, blessed, caffeine-laden) Dr. Pepper while the monkey ate dinner, and he finally dropped off to sleep by 8:45. We heated up chili from the freezer and indulged in the sad, desperate lives of Don Draper and Peggy Olsen.
Some days…you just thank God you made it though. Luckily, as I keep telling B3, tomorrow is a brand new day. Goodnight!