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It started early. I dreamed that Sam had been asleep on our couch and had been shot by intruders. I thought he was dead. When I knew they were gone and I walked into the room, his face was frozen with this expression of such fear. Then I realized he was still breathing. I called 911, and for some reason was not in the ambulance with him. I drove, but then no one would tell me which hospital they had taken him to. When I finally found out, I had a hard time getting there. I walked up to the surgery desk and told them I was there for my son, and that he'd been shot. Right then, I was awakened by Sam coming in to ask if he could lay in our bed. Normally, we don't let him. But I couldn't say no.
And that would have been enough. It was just a dream, but 12 hours later I found that I didn't know how to banish it from my head completely, and it still makes me feel a bit like crying.
Danny got up first, then Sam an hour and a half later. Things were all right for a while, but I was bristly. I was sitting at the computer trying to order a new lunch bag for Sam since his has been inexplicably torn apart, and they were pushing and whining. I moved Sam out of my way. He screamed at me, pushing isn't nice, why did you push me. I didn't push him, but I moved him physically and I probably shouldn't have. I know that I didn't hurt anything besides his feelings. He's sensitive. Even when we fight, or when he is mad at me, he does not want to be away from me. We can not send him to his room to calm down, he can't go be alone, it makes it 100 times worse.
At that moment, I envisioned myself just running. Out the front door, closing them in, shutting out the whining and the crying and screaming and crying myself, throwing the kind of tantrum that I have to listen to from them. I think most mothers have those days where we just want to be ourselves for one. minute. Please, just a couple of minutes without someone pulling on me, touching me, climbing on me. Let me have my own skin back.
But what can you do? You just have to move on. So we got calmed down. Until Sam started begging me to buy another game from the Wii downloads. Kid, are you kidding? In the past week, we have gotten more than 5 new games for various reasons. We also dug out several old GameCube games to play on the Wii. I'm not buying a new game. And he's full on throwing a huge, crying, yelling fit.
I stared at him, because in those moments, all I could think is how he was acting like a spoiled brat. Maybe he IS one. And if he is, it's all my fault. There must be somewhere I'm going wrong. I must not be teaching him to appreciate what he has, or making him earn things. We give him too much and then we expect him to forget about it when we say no? He is a good kid, and I know that. But on the days when we hit snags, it feels like failure.
Justin dealt with his tantrum. He took him to his room and I held Danny and put on an episode of Backyardigans. My heart was racing, adrenaline rushing through my veins, and I was so mad. I listened to the sounds of the screaming, the jumping up and down and stomping coming from Sam's room and I was so, so angry. It's not right or rational, it's not loving or motherly. No one gets to me the way my kids do. It's hard, but I know it also means that I love them.
Twenty minutes later, they emerged, and it was like nothing ever happened. Sam was calm again, happy, smiling. We had an unexpected visitor, my husband's brother dropping off some things from the old house that we didn't know were coming. Justin and I both got prickly and then the kids were just whining again. I had to get away. I escaped to our bedroom and I sat in the dark for 15 minutes, feeling sad and frustrated and remembering that my monthly visit was starting meaning I am sensitive and a little dark and scowly. I wanted to leave the house, I was feeling trapped. But next thing I knew, it was 4:00. The day was mostly gone, and we still weren't dressed and I don't think we're going anywhere.
While Sam and Danny were eating, I escaped to the computer and looked in my feedreader. One of the birth blogs I read posted a beautiful video of a home birth. I sat there and wrote something on Facebook about the dream that I'm still thinking about. A friend posted a comment on it, a virtual hug of sorts, and I felt the tears come back, stinging my eyes. It hurts to think about it.
I watched the birth video, and it was beautiful. But I found myself sitting at my desk and the tears in my eyes were not just for the beauty, they were for my longing. I watched her arms around her husband's neck, the blind grasping for her support, the intimacy of having that person who can anchor you. Things are just not the same now than they used to be, and I miss it.
5:00 pm and the sky began to darken, and we were still in our pajamas and no one had showered and I was hungry and the day was coming to a close. Another friend recommended some acupressure points that are supposed to help you recover from nightmares, and I did a Google search and found some information. As I looked at it, I felt tears in my eyes again and I wondered if this whole day and the way I experienced it came from some stupid, horrible dream I'd had.
It was not a good day.