I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)

It's 7:38 p.m. and Peyton is screaming his head off. Nothing works to calm him down.

Sippy Cup?

Next.

Blanket?

Nope.

Cookie?

Guess again.

I've had it already and he's only been home from school for three and a half hours.

I ask Troy, "Do you think his ears are still bothering him?"

Troy shrugs. He's at a loss himself.

Finally at 8:00 p.m., the tears stop and Peyton is settled and in bed.

I drag my tired self to the couch and wonder why I can't seem to find the magic touch like other Moms do.

I am always hearing how bedtimes are bonding times, how bath time can be joyous and how reading to your child is the right thing to do.

Unfortunately, bed time at our house consists of a diaper change, wrestling to get a tooth brush swirled around the mouth a few times and that's about it.

At least it's that way for me.

Troy is another story. He'll go into Peyton's room to tuck him in and I'll hear the room erupt into giggles, hear the singing of ABC's and the reciting of 123's.

I've bought books, CD's, DVD's, coloring books, play-doh, blocks, and multiple other materials to try to bond with my boy, but nothing gives.

By 9:45, I am in my own bed tucked in with a book and by 10:15, I am out like a light.

It is morning once again and Peyton is being his usual testy self.

Troy goes to pick up Chloe to change her diaper and Peyton gets very upset.

"No! Chloe here! Chloe go here!" He screams in protest pointing at the bouncer that Chloe was just nestled in.

Once Chloe is cleaned up, Troy turns to Peyton to change his diaper as well.

More screaming.

More crying.

More wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Troy goes to buckle Peyton in the truck.

Hysterical screams.

I sigh and put the truck in reverse and shut the garage door.

As I'm backing up, I notice Peyton has his blanket and sippy cup.

'What in the world!' I think to myself- just a smidgeon annoyed.

I whip out my cell phone and ring Troy.

"Did you miss me already?" His friendly voice teasingly asks.

"You really just did not send your son to school with his blanket and sippy cup did you?!"

"Do you want me to come and get it?"

"Yes! You know this kid will have a melt down if I get all the way to school and I have to pry it out of his hands."

"Ok. Are you still out back?"

"No. I'm in the front."

Troy comes out the front door and opens Peyton's door. "Here give me the blanket and your cup, Peyton. All done now."

Troy has to pull the blanket out of Peyton's hands and pry the cup out of his teeth.

As you can guess, more screaming and crying.

This continues until we are about 10 minutes from his school. Then he hops out of the truck, right into one of  the assistant teachers' arms and he is all smiles.

For her.

Not me.

Then Chloe decides that she would like to pipe up so she cries all the way home.

We get home and Chloe is settled in her crib and I am cleaning the house like a mad woman. Kitchen counters are scrubbed, floors swept, stainless appliances polished, furniture dusted, bathroom scoured.

Then Chloe is up again and I'm sitting and trying to be in the moment; I have classical music in her room on, I'm holding her close to me and rocking her while she eats.

I set her down to heat up leftovers and she starts to whimper so I'm holding her in one arm and twirling linguine onto a fork with the other.

The hours fly by.

It's time to get Peyton from school again.

So we all pile into the truck and head down the country road past the cows and the sheep, past the fields and wild apple trees and zoom up the highway until we're at the front entry of his school.

Out comes Peyton, skipping along side one of the staff and he jumps up into his seat like he wasn't a screaming banshee just a few hours before.

I head back home and this truck waits until the last possible second to pull out in front of me then slows down. I almost hit the back end of it and I lay on the horn shouting, "What the heck, dude?!"

Road rage.

I've got it.

I got it bad (and that ain't good).



I feel that burning ember of fury in my chest and the adrenaline is pumping through my veins.

I've read before that road rage is a symptom of  a fight or flight instinct. When we feel like our life is put in danger, some of us will want to fight, others will want to get away.

I'm a fighter. All the way.

I am glaring at the truck as it decides to find its gas peddle a few miles down the road and speeds away.

If I could shoot firey laser beams out my eyes at it like the Grand High Witch in Rauld Dahl's 'The Witches', I would.

The thought of this makes me laugh. I envision two beams of light zapping that truck and blowing it to smithereens. The thought of this keeps me entertained the rest of the way home.

Home again.

There is a CD I ordered in the mailbox from Amazon of some of Raffi's greatest songs for children and a Roly Poly Ollie Halloween DVD for Peyton.

I mull it over- CD or DVD?

The DVD would be the easy choice but Peyton and I hadn't had the greatest night or morning together so I figure I should try the music to see if he likes it and will play with me a while.

In goes the CD.

Chloe and I are bouncing around the kitchen and she's giggling. Really giggling.

Peyton dances around for a bit then edges up the stairs, and he's done.

So much for that.

Now Peyton is whining at me to pick him, "UuuUUuuuuuPPP!" and Chloe is snoozing in her crib.

I'm off to take a shower and get ready for Bunco tonight.

I can't wait.

No crying.

No babies.

Just the mindless rolling of dice and adult conversation.

Except that Peyton just leaned over and gave me a hug, patted my back and said in his little boy voice, "I wuv you!"

I think my heart just defrosted and melted a little bit.