THAT day...

Last Friday... well... it should have been stricken from the calendar. Just a hard day - not really bad, just laborious. It felt like everything had to be difficult. Difficulty complicated by twist. But by one in the afternoon, scenarios began resolving without blood, sweat,or tears. But as a mom, you know that the anxiety becomes a little, um, pent up. About four in the afternoon, when (on a good day) I'm usually ready to quit parenting and flee to Canada with an assumed identity and four years of high school French in my back pocket, I decided to just have a roll on the floor sessions withe kids. (A hint of sarcasm in my voice at this point) Let it not be said of me that I don't play with my kids. No sir-ey, Bob. I'm a mom that PLAYS with her little ones, even on hard days. So we were having a great time tickling, imitating barn animals. At some point I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I opened them to find the two year old standing over me with a brick-size toy camera. I smile, getting ready for my pretend photo, when Levi raises the camera and slams it down on top of my unprotected forehead. He hit me so hard the camera bounced. I saw stars. I saw moons, black holes, and supernovas. I immediately shot up to a sitting fetal position with my hand clamped over my face and screamed. The two year old, who thought I was playing, picked up the camera and attempted to lob another shot my way. Without uncovering I shoved him to the ground and kicked the camera across the room - was this a modern-day stoning?!? Levi was immediately aware that our relationship, yea, his very life, was in jeopardy because I started to cry... and then just outright bawl into my hands. I don't think I've ever lost it in front of them like that - BUT IT HURT SO BAD!!! Levi kept trying to crawl on my lap, and when I could peel my fingers off my head, I grabbed him soundly by both shoulders and barked, "Say sorry to Mommy! Say sorry to Mommy!" Now, the apology that took an hour to coax from him in his crib just last week came forth quickly, awash with tears, "Sorry, Mommy!!!" With that I grabbed him and pinned him on my lap to prevent further bodily harm (to myself!), and turned my hysteria upon the four year old. "Is there blood on my forehead ?! Right here?! Is it bleeding?!" Z, trying to keep it together assures me there's no blood, but then dissolves to tears himself because I've "made (him) feel so, so bad." He buries his face in my back and weeps. The baby is still screaming on my lap. I bow my head and try to focus my gaze.

In front of me stands the three year old girl with her hands on her hips. Dead serious. There wasn't a hint of fear or distress. "Mom, do you need a kiss?" I'm sniffling, "Yeah...". She leans over and plants a super-power, healing kiss on my forehead which felt like it was going to split in two. "There," and she leans back. "Now, Mom. I'd like to dress up and be the princess, okay? You help me with the dress." "Okay," I sniff. The boys are sniffling and crying softly. But my Libby stayed large and in charge. A good candidate for nursing already, if you ask me. But the hospitals may take issue with the pink princess dress and magic slippers.