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When Mommy's Had Enough

The same child I need distance from is still calling my name in his bed, “mommy…mommy…mommy.”  He’s neither changed his tone nor varied the pace. And he is somewhere in the hundreds.  I should be flattered.  Maybe even excuse him from his nap.  But I can’t today.  It’ll be moments before he finds his way to the door knob, peeks out and hollers, “mommy, can I get up now?”  And I need these two minutes for me.  Just me…and the sound of my name in the distance.

The last of my figurative straws broke somewhere in Fred Meyer this morning.  He had been in the cart, taken off his green flip flops and swatted them at his sister.  Who, not wanting to be whapped on with the bottom of his shoe, didn’t sit there and take it.  She yelled for me, then grabbed his flip-flops and hung onto them.  I whipped my head up from the deli meats as he was lunging for her in the cart.  And if the gal wasn’t already slicing our turkey, I’d’ve wheeled them out right then. But we waited it out for our turkey and manuevered on to the eggs.  Only the eggs were so near the ice cream that I was asked for such no less than 49 times, whereby on the fiftieth request, autopilot engaged and I was no longer listening. 

In the school supply section, I emptied both kids from the cart. The bananas were bruised and one corn was half shucked. Only while I was hunting out pencils and squinting at sale signs, my son diverted to the toy section.  Barefoot. When we did head to the check-out, he zig-zagged in front of the cart, lost his re-shoed right flip flop and cried when I ran over it with the cart. When we paused to put it on his foot again, he slipped it on between his second and third toes. Which would do…I’d had enough of these flip flops.

At the checkout our bananas rang up quadruple the price of anyone else’s bananas, so we had to wait…for help.  And waiting meant I needed more eyeballs to keep track of what was going on.  My son was sorting candy bars we were not buying.  I was waiting for the self-checker gal to make eye contact, and my daughter was sighing in my ear about how long this was taking and just how bored she was.  I was actually looking forward to wheeling out in the 95 degree heat.  Anything that would get me closer to his nap.

But you know the rest.  There was no nap.  For anyone.   In fact, he’s tugging on me now and patting my arm.  He wants to know what I’m doing; he wants to know if I’ll play blocks with him; he wants to run outside and he wants me to come…  He wants the world. 

And I…

I  just want a nap.

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