This day started late, with both girls on top of me, trying to get warm, trying to wake each other up, trying to see how many times they could cram a phalange in one of my warm spots or punch me in the bladder before I broke. It was dark and raining, so we were all confused about the time. By the time we got changed, dressed, and downstairs, it was 9, we were late, and there were no coffee filters.
When we got in the car to head to the gym, Bea discovered that she’d left her window rolled down “just an eensy little crack” and the rain had soaked her seat overnight. I ran back in for a dishtowel for her to sit on, and listened to her bossy little speech about how I really should check all the windows every day so things like this don’t happen, like a good “coachwoman”.
When we got home, no one wanted to eat, especially not Leona, who’s diaper, and pants, and jacket (!), were filled with the spectacular poop of a toddler who has diligently consumed an entire box of non-toxic crayons. I gently, exquisitely, wiped her backside and made her good as new, while she raged at my audacity with such fierceness, I started to think I really had done something wrong.
Once we’d all settled in to nap time, Beatrice charged in to my room and threw herself on the bed beside me. “I want to look at dolls on your computer with you and look at all their clothes and see a picture of the bones of a snake,” she opposite of whispered. “Beatrice, it’s quiet time. No talking, no touching, no playing.” “I am being quiet! Can’t you hear me!? Look! Leona’s awake anyway! YAY!”
Tonight I stood in the kitchen, half an hour past the girls’ bedtime, one with a spatula, one holding on to me for dear life, nursing. One handed, I fried bacon while I did my best not to help the three year old scramble eggs.
She did not eat them.
Today was a beautiful day. I was punched, scratched, pinched, screamed at, degraded, insulted, disregarded, disobeyed, and shit upon, but I did not yell at my kids today.