*Sigh. This was quite a day. But I learned some great lessons and I'm glad I have pictures of all the good things that came out of this day. Here's a "hypoglycemic rage" I wrote on my toddler activities blog about this day:
Remember middle school
dodge ball? I still remember the anxiety
that would fill my body as huge rubber balls started flying around me.
But I had an advantage: I was 85 pounds. I could easily dodge those
suckers, which I quickly realized meant that I would be one of the last
players standing. Whenever I threw a ball at someone, it moved through
the air in a gentle arc that said, "Here you go, catch me!" and I was
out. So I'd keep dodging. I became pretty good at it and started getting
a little confident in my sweet dodging skills. By the end of the game,
it would be me and one other guy who could throw those balls like the
hulk. He'd throw and I'd dodge. Then it always seemed to be at the peek
of my confidence, when I thought the game was almost over, that it would
happen. A large rubber ball, moving at maximum speed, would slam right
into my head. I never even knew where it came from, but it stung and any
trace of my pride would disappear.
That's exactly how I felt last Thursday. The week was going so well. I
was feeling confident that I could balance four children under the age
of five and even
go places with them. We'd made it to the
Treehouse museum and survived. I had resumed Joy School and taught a
lesson to our little group about imagination, while balancing a 16 month
old and a newborn. Besides the part where Lottie didn't make it to the
restroom on time and peed all over the floor in her Belle costume, we
managed quite well. I felt like I was dodging our disasters with grace
(even though I'm no longer 85 pounds...)
And then it happened. That speeding rubber ball came in the form of a
Thursday. I woke up exhausted and sent the girls into the backyard to
entertain themselves while I tried to take a nap on the couch. I moved
through the day like a zombie: gymnastics at 11, then lunch time, and
then the daily struggle to get everyone down for naps or quiet time. At
four, we had to go back to gymnastics for group pictures, something I
couldn't be late for (red flag). I had everything ready and was waiting
for Hazel to wake up from her nap to slip her into her leotard. She
slept right up until it was time to go, so we were rushed and I soon
became a cranky horrible person. I hurried them into their suits,
brushed Hazel's hair roughly into a ponytail while she yelled at me and
tried to kick me. I packed up the baby, Eloise, and yelled at the girls
to buckle their car seats for the fifth time and off we went, angry and
upset.
We arrived just in time and it was
packed. Little girls in
leotards everywhere. As soon as we walked in, I noticed two things:
Lottie's suit was really riding up in the back, which meant it was on
backwards and Edison started wailing in his carseat. I set Eloise (16
months) down and she instantly took off. I ran after her and then
quickly stripped Charlotte naked in a corner and turned her leotard
around. Edison was still crying as I saw a few members of Hazel's class
already taking pictures. I asked the lady up front to help my girls know
where to go and went back to take Edison out of his car seat. Eloise
was pressing her little hands up against the doors, crying to go back
outside. I looked around for Hazel and Charlotte and saw that they were
standing in the middle of the crowd with no idea where to go (throw me a
bone receptionist lady?!). I kept one eye on Eloise near the doors
(knowing she at least couldn't exit alone) and found the line to get the
girls' tickets for a picture. As I was writing a check with one hand,
with Edison in the other, one of the workers collecting checks saw Ellie
crying at the double doors a few feet away and, not knowing she was
mine, asked, "Aw, what's wrong with that baby?" Ha. I just forced a
shaky smile and signed the check.
I called the girls over to me and handed them their tickets. When I
turned back to check on Ellie, she was gone. I panicked and ran out the
doors to see if she had escaped. She wasn't outside, so I came back in
and went to the helpful receptionist who pointed to a woman walking
around with Eloise on her hip, searching for a mom. I thanked her and
she gave me that "how could you ever lose your child??" look that people
who have never lost
their child in a public place sometimes give
(don't worry lady, your time will come), bless her heart. I squatted
down to pick up my chunky Eloise who was fighting me while still holding
Edison in the other hand and that's when I knew I couldn't do this. Two
moms from my daughters' class were standing nearby and saw my struggle.
They offered to help, which made me feel grateful but embarrassed. I
knew Eloise wouldn't go to anyone else at this point, so I carried both
my little ones into the front waiting area, with Hazel and Charlotte in
tow. I carefully placed Edison, who was asleep, back into his car seat,
and with my hands shaking even more, called my husband.
"Emergency. Come now."
"Is anyone hurt?" he asked, calmly.
"Nope." And then I hung up and looked down at my little ones. I felt
guilty and sad that this had been such a terrible experience. After a
few minutes, David arrived and watched Eloise and the baby while I
hunted down a spare scrunchy for Hazel's pony tail that was part of the
uniform (we had lost ours). Both girls were in the group shot and then
we finally stood in line for the individual pictures.
And do you know the worst part of this entire mess? It wasn't the
embarrassment of losing Ellie (not like it was the first time that had
happened to me...) or the fact that Charlotte had an orange ring around
her mouth because she ate a carrot right after her nap. It wasn't even
the fact that Hazel's pony tail had bumps and wasn't curled and hair
sprayed like every other little girl there. It was her face when she got
her picture taken. It still makes me cry. The photographer asked her to
hold up her arms in a pose and keep them straight, which was hard, and
then when it was time to take the picture, she barely smiled. The
photographer kept asking her to show her teeth which she finally did,
but then it looked like she was scared or trying to scare someone--she
was so tense! No one else would have ever known, but I could tell that
she was on the verge of tears and giving a big open smile was just
asking too much. The photographer had her switch to a more comfortable
pose which helped her relax. Then little Lottie had her picture taken
once she stopped giggling and wiggling. I sighed in relief and stood to
leave when the photographer called us back and said her computer had
frozen. We had to do the entire thing over again.
When all was said and done my sweet husband offered to take the kids
home and give me some time alone. I climbed into his car and started to
cry. I cried all the way to Great Harvest Bread where I bought some
cookies. I've been cutting out sugar from my diet and it was my second
week of success, but I
needed those cookies (spoken like a true
addict). I bought extra for the girls as an apology for being such a
mean mom that day. On the drive home, I came to a stop and saw that a
blind man was starting to cross the street but stopped as he heard my
car approaching. I slowed down and waited for him to cross, but he
lingered on the sidewalk, unsure. Two teenage boys who were dressed like
total thugs passed him and started to cross the street. I was about to
roll down my window and tell him to go when one of the boys stopped and
turned back to the blind man. He walked back to the curb and offered his
arm. Both boys walked with the man across the street. I burst into
tears again as I watched these two boys help the man to the bus stop.
They saw me watching and as I turned onto the road, I smiled at them
proudly until one of them shouted,
"Hey, give me yo number!" (Another dodge ball to the head. You still live in Ogden.)
This day completely knocked me off my feet. The thing is, I've had an
underlying fear ever since my fourth was born that has slowly been
surfacing, especially on the more difficult days. I feel it most when
all four of my little ones are needing me at the same time and in the
midst of the havoc, I hear a quiet inner voice tell me:
"You're not enough."
Then I feel a pool of guilt settle in at the bottom of my stomach that
stays for a while as I struggle to give each of my children the
attention and time that I think they need and deserve. As soon as I sit
down to read with Ellie, Edison wants to nurse and Charlotte wants a
quiet time activity because she won't take her nap. As soon as Hazel
asks me to color with her, it's time to start dinner because if I put it
off, everyone will have a major meltdown because they're hungry,
including myself. It's in those moments that I really start to doubt
everything.
But then I remember that it's just a bad day, and it will pass. Soon it
will be morning again and my kids will run into my room and tell me good
morning (because I've threatened to take away Netflix if they ask to
watch TV before they tell me good morning) and they will have completely
forgotten the drama of the day before. Friday, was much better than
Thursday. I stripped myself of all expectations and went with the flow
of things. We colored together and I took a really long bath while the
girls watched a really long movie. We went for a walk and I let Hazel
paint my toenails. We skipped nap times because I didn't want the stress
of it. I took lots of pictures of them and recorded their voices
because I know they will grow like weeds before my eyes. I was in love
with them. There were things left undone, but I made sure to be kind
and focus on what was important.
Sometimes you get slammed right in the face unexpectedly with a disaster
of a day. But you can't dodge all the bad days because they're part of
the game. And if life was just made up of happy perfect moments that
make a great instagram, then there would be no point, no growth, and no
substance for a good laugh later. I'm learning that just because you
have a bad day, it doesn't mean you're a bad mom. Besides, the sting
doesn't last too long and if you can muster the strength to survive the
day and even smile through your tears, then that's certainly "enough,"
don't you think?
I love 'em.
And this is what I was doing while Hazel napped and everything was already "ready"...
I took Ellie outside for a quick walk to get some shots of her cuteness.
I cut bangs for both Ellie and Charlotte before gymnastics that morning.
Also maybe not the best example of good time management since my haircuts tend to take longer than usual...
And then when all was said and done, we had a pretty fun time in the tub that evening...
Edison has been cooing and chatting with us a lot lately.
