Thursday, May 9, 2013

I think that 2013 is trying to kill me. I don’t know why, despite what I write here, I really am a nice person. At least I intend to be. And I don’t get what this particular year has against me, but there’s some serious hating going on.

Not everybody is as aware of everything that Starbucks does. I am. So I have been taking advantage of the half price Frappuccino’s this week. And sharing the wealth with my progeny. It’s been fun. So yesterday, I took Sir Cranky-Pants, and by that I mean X-Man, to get a strawberry one. X-Man is my eater, and he had to sit in a hot car for an hour and a half waiting on Mac, Baba and Baby, and he’s been sick. So what better for a mother to do than load him up with sugar.

X-Man enjoyed his first few gulps and then he wanted me to taste. So I did. But apparently I did it wrong, because he kept thrusting the cup in my face, with the straw up my nose. Which might have been the intention. I finally took the cup from him, because my nose needed a break, but no melt down occurred. Rather he turned all his attention on my cup of water. And polished that off without a second thought to the treat. I’m an awesome mom. I buy my kids sugary treats and they choose water. I should win on like ten different levels.

X-Man’s been sick since Cinco stopped gestating. So it’s been hard for him to adjust to mommy not always able to hold him immediately. He still is running fevers and breaking out in rashes, and three trips in one week to the doctor haven’t helped resolve anything. He’s angry and opinionated. He’s taken to hitting and biting me. Mostly when I tell him no, or put him down to pick up his younger sister.  He bit my leg in retaliation and was shocked, shocked I tell you, be find himself reprimanded. He collapsed in a heap of wailing, leaving me to wonder why  even thought I was the one who hadn’t bitten anyone and I was the one feeling guilty. And overwhelmed with the desire to pick up my little X-Man and soothe him, which outraged Gestated Cinco who would have bitten me if the thought has occurred to her.

X-Man has been a terror and I am about ready to ship him off to reform school. But then, as I was sitting in the doctor’s office for the fourth time in a week, I watched him scratch his sister’s head, as she slept her baby carrier. Not a “you told me no” type of scratch, but the gentle stroking that I often do to his own head. I started to scratch his head, which cause him to snuggle closer to me while doing on Gestated.
It was a beautiful moment. One that ended when I told X-Man that he couldn’t stick his finger up my nose while scratching his sister’s head. If I had thought about it, I would have just left it at “don’t stick your fingers up my nose”, but I was distracted by the head butt and collapsing onto the floor in a heap to wail away. Which might explain why he can’t get healthy?

If I had let him actually empty out the contents of the garbage can, all would have been well. But as the crazy lady with five kids who seems to live at the doctor’s office, I figure keeping up appearances was more important. That would be the appearance of not being moved by the immense tragedies in my son’s life. 

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