I wake up. My body is quiet, but my face is not. I pushed too hard yesterday. I get it. Fine. I won’t go to the open house. Sheesh.
My face is worse than it’s been in days. The tremors are a little worse. At this point, normally if I’m lying down my body tremors are pretty mild (or even non-existent), my facial twitches, calmer. Not today. Not this morning. My head feels funny, tingling? Really muscles throughout my body feel like that way. It is sort of like when your foot falls asleep, but after the painful pins and needles phase.
My bed smells. Despite washing bedding every week, the sheets and blankets are inevitably going to develop an odor if you essentially live in it for a week. Baskets of unfolded laundry line the wall. I glance, sigh, and decide that today is not the day. for those baskets. I pull the sheets from my bed, lug them down the hallway, and smoosh them into the washer. There! Productivity.
The kids are fighting. Away from the screens, the only stimulation they seek is the thrill received from antagonizing one another. STOP. JUST. STOP. Robin has given up getting dressed or listening or using his hands for helping. He screams, he fights. After a day of battles, he informs me, “I want popcorn.”
I have no energy for him, his insolence. I respond, “I don’t care if you want popcorn right now. You’re not getting it.”
Robin throws his hands in the air, stomps off tearily, and announces, “I see! You don’t care about me!” Ugh. No I just don’t care about you getting popcorn right now. Can’t you see I’m just barely holding it together here? When did age six suddenly become the threshold for being a moody teenager?
So I bake. Baking makes me happy. I bake for others. I bake gluten free donuts with maple glaze. The maple glaze unites the children for a moment. And then the moment is over.
The kids are handling the whole situation as best they can. Linus had become my defender. He wants to snuggle me. He tries to parent his siblings, which I then have to tell him no.
Eileen doesn’t want to talk about it. She hides. Where is Eileen? Find a dark quiet corner or look in her room. I miss her. I want to make sure she is okay. I knock on the door.
“Occupied.”
Seriously? “Can I see you for a moment? I just want to say hi.” Eileen opens the door a crack. She lets me sort of hold her and then closes the door on me. I can’t help but cry. I don’t feel rejected. My heart just hurts for her.
Robin is just angry. He doesn’t respond when we talk to him. He throws things. He pushes his baby cousin to the ground. He refuses to do work at school. Robin doesn’t want anyone to come near him except when he suddenly becomes his old self, and burrows in for hugs and kisses. Robin is hurting and I’m struggling to be the mom he needs right now.
Tomorrow is a school day. After morning battles, I will get a few hours of reprieve. It’s late. I go to make my bed. The comforter is still damp. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.