Some days are longer than others. You know, they just feel so much longer than a day should and by 4pm, you are itching to throw food on the table and wipe their little faces and put them in their beds because you honestly don't think you can take any more.
Yesterday and today have been days like that and we are starting in on another long stretch of a trip and I feel un-rested and ill-prepared to man this ship alone. My son alone is the major cause of my concern these days. God bless this child. He needs an extra bit lately. And so does his Mommy...
He had a scuffle with his older sister the other day and he survived with only a few gashes on his cheek. We are working on our Kind Hands, still... Sometimes I chock it up to tiredness. I mean, who doesn't have a bad day when they are tired?
Two nights ago, I was awoken in the middle of the night. To moaning. Ghostly moaning. Our house is a hundred years old and perhaps I read too much Stephen King, but it took me a few minutes to realize it was my son. What he was moaning about, I couldn't tell you. I went in to settle him down and I believe he was still asleep. Or faking. Who can tell? He did it some more after that and I was thoroughly freaked out by it so I sent my husband in. Then he began the wandering around. I would attempt to settle myself down and calm my rapidly beating heart and I would sense a presence. My eyes would pop open and there he would be, standing right over me or walking around the foot of the bed to my husband. He did this intermittently from about midnight until about 4am and we are up for the day at 6:30am or so and when asked about his antics in the night over breakfast, he says he didn't know what we were talking about. Or so the four year old says. Again, who can tell?
Thinking that he is probably beyond exhausted and will settle down without any troubles, we put them to bed last night and he was being himself, but then settled down. And then the storm began. Branches were falling about and doors were slamming shut in the wind and things propped up on the window sills were being blown over. Now, I fully expected the kids to have trouble sleeping. It was LOUD. I mean, these are the kids where if you step on the somewhat squeaky step on the stairs will wake up and ask for water, food, another story, anything. These are the kids where if you flush a toilet in the night, they will come around hearing you and say they have to potty, as well. They were SILENT, not a sound. So, today I was thinking they would be completely well-rested and un-eventful.
Not so. After the oldest went to school, he was climbing the walls. My husband gave him a bag of trash to bring out to the shed. A few moments passed and there was that weird wailing in the distance. The bag of trash was by itself sitting on the back porch. My husband and I ran out to see what was going on and off my son took from around the corner and ran away from us! He came back around from the other side of the house and as he approached, he was evidently wailing and had a gash on his nose and a purple welt forming under his eye. After about twenty minutes of him running away and crying, we were able to piece together the story: he dropped the trash to chase a squirrel and when he came back, he tripped up the steps, face planting on one on his way back up. Come ON! So, now, he has the scratch marks from his sister on his cheek, a slash mark on the bridge of his nose and a purple bruised line under his eye. Perfect. THEN! When picking him up from pre-school, I see him digging with his friend and one of them has a trowel and I watch as the child raises it above his head and brings it down with some force and my son is digging directly in front of him and just as I think, "Oh, this might not end well," he does it again and gouges right down onto my son's knuckle. Lovely. Again, he runs away. I try to run and comfort and he throws wood chips at me. These are the moments where I am grateful when my husband is home because he stalked right over and scooped him up and off we went home in a trail of wailing.
So, needless to say, I am tired and am I am sure he is also. What the problem is, I couldn't tell you. Growing pains of a metaphorical kind? Adjusting to new perameters with school and the house? Too much stimulation? Not enough stimulation? Maybe it's just a string of "Those Days" that just occurred together with "Those Nights" and things will be better for a few days in a row at least? I don't know. All I know is I am thankful for the grace to handle these children each and every day and the grace that he obviously needs to just survive... being himself, I guess. I am shaking my head just sitting here thinking about it all.
Tomorrow is a new day...
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