There should be a law preventing germs from infecting parents who have children under five at home. Me Too is Driving. Me. Crazy.
She is thrilled, genuinely thrilled, to have Brother home all day to play with her. Trouble is, of course, that he isn’t here to play with her: he is home because he has the flu. No amount of explaining, scolding, or reasoning can convince Sister otherwise. She WILL play. They have been like two little puppies, nipping at each other’s heals and strewing things about until Brother is so exhausted that he starts crying for her to stop.
So much for keeping them apart so she doesn’t get sick, eh?
Sister is much less active at home on her own. This play-and-eat, play-and-eat cycle is causing much more work for me, right when all I really want to do is curl up under a warm blanket with a cup of hot tea and a mindless rom-com. When in fact what am I actually doing? Returning from the bathroom where I was checking on Me First who was taking to long. He had the toilet brush rolled up in wet paper with a bouncy ball on it and was washing the whole mess in the sink. All of which he promptly dropped to the floor when he saw me walk in.
The ball had fallen in the toilet, he’d used the brush and paper combo to fish it out, and was now cleaning it up. Reasonable enough, I suppose, if you are seven and oblivious to the fact that wet toilet paper is clogging up the sink.
Where to even start?
Cleaned up that, returned to the living room to find Sister has turned on the gas heater AND opened all the windows, which she was cleaning with her school towel that got left out when I ran to the bathroom, but was in the process of being loaded into her backpack for school tomorrow. (Thank god she has school tomorrow!) It is, of course, now soaking wet. The school towels HAS to have a loop and it has to have her name on it…Maybe I can send her with Brother’s tomorrow and just cross out the first name. (Cringing inwardly.)
Very aggravating series of events, even in the best of times.
I do think I’m doing better now, though, with her than when Brother was the same age. I remember a dark, dark incident that happened when he was four. Daddy was off somewhere, in-laws were MIA, and Baby (as sister used to be) had a horrible stomach bug. It got to the point where she couldn’t even keep down her own saliva. The skin on her tummy was all wrinkly, her fingernails were turning blue. I needed to take her to the hospital. It was 5 am, but we’d already been up for awhile and Brother was watching a video.
Cause I’m a bad mom like that. I just needed him out of my hair.
But then it got worse. I got the children ready, called a taxi, and told Me First it was time to go. He turned to me and said,
“After this episode!”
At which point I totally lost it and smacked him right across his little four-year-old face.
He started to cry. I started to cry. The baby had been crying for hours. We were a hot, sticky, salty mess, but we made it to the taxi and to the hospital. Sister had to have an IV and stay for several hours, but we all survived.
Me First has forgotten about the incident, but I can’t.
Anyone want to share their own dark parenting moment?