As I was cooking dinner tonight I found myself wondering how I fed my family before Pintrest. I'm not actually convinced that I did feed them before. Basically if the recipe has the words 'easy" or "crockpot" in the title, I'm all over it.
X-Man and I had a difference of opinion today. He thought the mandatory parents' meeting should take place on the playground, in the rain. And he was adamant. I tried to reason with him. And by reason I mean hold him on my lap with my hand over his mouth. He and I had a difference of opinion on the appropriateness of that tactic. He thought I should not do it. He also thought that he should thrash back and forth while arcing his back. Cinco thought that she should play dead in her carseat. But that got boring, so she ate her feet instead. She was singularly unimpressed with her brother's ability to throw a tantrum.
I finally had to carry the writhing X-Man out of the room. I looked him in the eye and said "You must stop this." He said "NO!" Oh, that did not go as planned. So I tried again, while adjusting my hold on him. "You must be quiet before I put you down." He responded "Help. HELP. HELP!!!" On that we agreed. I was most ready for help...of any kind. However, his pleas went unanswered, so he continued thrashing. I continued holding and wondering if Cinco was taking notes on the meeting, because I wasn't getting anything out of it. I was running out of options and was in danger of slipping a disc in my back, so I put the linebacker down and looked him in the eye. "X-Man, you must stop this now. You are being naughty and Mama needs to take care of the baby." Not really, the baby was holding her own, pretending she didn't know either one of us, but hey, I have to appear as if I am in some sort of control, or at least awareness of my children.
With red teary eyes, more than his typical amount of snot pouring out of his nose, X-Man looked at me, extended his arms and gasped "I want Mama."
So I carried him back in, he was gasping still, but sat quietly in my lap. Until he realized that in his tantruming, he had caused his Thomas the Tank Engine to fall to the floor. He slid out of my lap, carefully walked Thomas over to his own chair, set down the train and then laid his head in his arms on the chair. And began to weep. Very discreetly. Which, for X-Man, requires quiet a bit of talent. He had wronged Thomas. Or, more accurately, he and Thomas had been wronged by his mother.
I allowed them their moment.