Months on the calendar. Weeks of planning. Days of preparing. And yet, our mother-son trip to the aquarium didn't happen. As usual, I thought I had it all figured out. Liam would stay at grandma's while I took Henry to the world famous aquatic museum. I researched the cost, the parking, the exhibits and the food court. I daydreamed about how much fun we would have and how excited Henry would be to see the creatures up close. He'd laugh as he watched the fish darting, swimming, and gliding serenely behind glass. I'd enjoy a carefree day with my oldest son as he discovered the wonder of ocean life.
Back in the real world of nothing-ever-turns-out-the-way-I-plan, Henry decided that he didn't like fish. He wanted to stay at Grandma's. I could tell by the tone and strength of his voice that there was no way I could cajole him into this outing. I certainly didn't want to waste $50 (or more) by taking him somewhere that he didn't want to be. Besides, how can I say "no grandma for you today" when we were stopping at her house to drop off Liam? That's clearly where he wanted to be and how he wanted to spend the day. Reframed, it's sweet. But I am not in a reframing mood.
In fact, I'm in a terrible mood. I complained my way through the day, said and did things I'm ashamed of. Nothing can cheer me up. During dinner Henry said, "We had fun at Grandma's". Just like that--out of the blue. Should make me smile, right? Nope, still just thinking about how this was the only fun day I planned for spring break and it didn't happen. While I was giving Liam a bath, Henry came up and kissed my arm. Just like that--out of the blue. Fifteen minutes later, I was yelling at him and his brother for not cooperating with the bedtime routine.
Not cooperating is an understatement. Actually, Liam was climbing my leg while simultaneously unrolling the toilet paper while I was trying to get hold of Henry who was balancing on one foot atop the toilet. Henry was fiercely refusing the application of a topical drops ($30 for 1 oz) to his severe underarm rash.
But still, I was really yelling. Screaming at a 13 month old...does it get any more shameful than that?
I knew enough to go in the other room for a few moments to collect myself. The rest of our nighttime routine went smoothly. I was able to make both boys smile and laugh before lights out. I hope they sleep well. I'm pretty sure I won't.