the damn swinging pendulum

The sun was shining, my spirits were high, and Isaac and I had our whole morning ahead of us. I love these mornings, as I can do whatever I want, really. He's such an amiable little sidekick that I can go in and out of stores without nary a complaint. The sun glistened in his blonde hair, the radio DJ on CKUA was my favourite (Baba), and we were getting lots done. In Costco, I admired my mothering prowress as I sang "If you're happy and you know it" to Isaac and he giggled and did the actions, like a perfect little child. In Rona, he babbled away and charmed the cashier. In the Baby & Beyond store, he played happily in the kids toy area so that I could browse the treasures at my leisure. The pendulum was definitely in riding high, and I was on top of my game.

We pulled up to the preschool and got out to get Natty. Isaac toddled up to the door, garnering an aw-isn't-he-cute look from another mother. He is, I agreed in my mind. So, so cute. At the top of the stairs leading down to the preschool room, I heard Natty yelling. I never hear Natty yelling like that at preschool. The pendulum started to come down.

I spotted his highly markered-up little arms, face and new shirt at the same time that another gloating mother was telling me how awful Natty behaved with the marker at craft time.

"And he got marker all over his clothes, and look at how he drew all over the table! And he even coloured Arimus!" Her grating voice was immediately turned down by my mind as a sort of self-preservation defense as I tried to come to terms with what I was seeing. I didn't even respond to her--after all, who would really want to hear what would come out of my mouth at that point--and went to Natty to quietly remove him and take him away as quickly as I could. No go. He ran and hid. Then he ran and dumped a toy with a million little pieces all over the floor, all the while smirking at me with that "what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it" look on his face. (nothing lights my fire more than that.) I told him, as calmly and evenly as I could (though the voice in my head was screaming) it was time to pick up the pieces. NOW. No go. I carried him out crying to a time-out. Then he agreed to pick up the pieces, so back we went. (All the while the gloating mother was watching, of course.) He didn't pick them up. I had to quietly threaten him under my voice. Mother-of-the-year. I know. The pieces got picked up. All we had to do was deposit his indoor shoes in the bin and get the hell out of there.

"Get your hands off me! I want my bag! I want my BAG! I want my BAAAAAAAAAAAAG!"

"Natty, it's time to put your school shoes in the bin. Put your shoes in the bin and you can have your bag. Put. Your. Shoes. In. The. Bin."

"Noooooooo!" (writhing, clawing, kicking and screaming are simultaneously happening) "I want my BAAAAAAG!"

"Nathaniel. If you don't pick up your shoes right now, I will have to carry you out of preschool and upstairs to the car."

"GIVE ME MY BAG!"

I chuck his little shoes in the bin and head up the stairs with a twisting, hitting boy. Isaac greets us at the top of the stairs happily. He had been playing by himself in the gym. (More great mothering skills.) I tell Natty to put his outdoor shoes on, it's time to go. No go. I ram them on his little feet and hoist him over my shoulder. Now I only had to get Isaac who had run away in the wrong direction. Isaac thinks it's a game and runs. Then falls and hits his head. Then screams. Now I have two screaming boys under each arm. (ah--the strength that comes in times like this.) I have a splitting headache at this point, and I'm sure that Natty is aiming his bellowing hole right in my ear on purpose. I make it to the door outside and proceed to drop Natty on the front step as he is in 100% tantrum mode. I don't even look back. Of course, another mother is coming up the walk to witness it all. She gives me the "Oh-my-I'm-sorry" look and passes quietly with eyes averted. A gal's got to cling to whatever dignity is offered her in a situation such as this.

As classy as I feel at this point, I speak loudly to Natty from the car, "If you don't come to the car by yourself right now, I will carry you." No go. I march over, heave him up, and drop (I can't guarantee that there wasn't a bit of a throwing motion) him in the car. He pulls the back-arch/slide out of the seat and I pin him down with my elbow as I struggle to do him up. I win.

All the way home he screams bloody murder about not getting to put his shoes on or get in the car by himself. I leave him literally kicking and screaming in the car when we get home as a sort of "time out." Hey, a gal's got to take advantage of the five-point harness system at a time such as this. After I cooled down, I go and talk to him and we move the party in for lunch.

The pendulum is definitely as low as it can go by this point. And the magic of mother's day is definitely over.

But the best part of my story is during all the exiting mayhem from preschool, there was another mother who was the parent helper in class today, trying to tell me how "bright" Natty was. How he was watching her signing with her daugher and how he immediately picked up everything. So, so bright. In between the screaming, tantrums, markered arms/shirt, and headache, her words were a calming balm for my weary, frazzled soul. But I couldn't express it fully to her at the time, of course. I had to leave a message later (almost crying, of course) about how kind she was. So, so kind.

Of course, as soon as lunch was in his belly, he was a different little boy: laughing, joking, being adorable and heaping love on me as only a preschooler can. It was as if the morning didn't even happen. His little world can change on a dime, but I took a bit longer to come around. I can't keep up with his little moods, but I love him madly (literally and figuratively). And Isaac through it all? Happy as pie. Boy, this mothering gig is quite a ride.

Wow. Now THAT feels good. : )

Fun, amusing, entertaining, though not quite exact. Who am I to argue?! : ) What's fun is loading up different photos of yourself and seeing what it spits out each time. Silly, yet addicting.