Saturdays are hard. I'm not gonna lie. Every time the bus driver drops June off on Fridays, I smile and take June's hand. He smiles, and says, aren't you glad it's Friday? I smile and say yes. But it's not the truth. I'm actually cringing inside because the weekend is coming and that's when I break my back the most. That's when I yell the most. That's when I don't really know what to do with my days, because the routine is missing. That's when I have to stop June from gagging herself and puking about 150 times. I spend the day re-directing hands, managing expectations and wishing I could clean the bathroom, or at least fold laundry. My family doesn't know what to do with me and I don't know what to do with them. Tempers run short. Days run long and for some reason I feel like everyone's happiness rides on me. Well today had happiness built into it, so there was an easy rhythm to our afternoon that was better than average.
It was Halloween and also time to carve our almost-rotting pumpkins. As much as I don't look forward to this event, I knew that it meant fun for the kids and and it especially meant that June would get in a lot of messy, goopy play and PERHAPS, wouldn't spend the night gagging herself while we were out trick-or-treating. Consequently, June ate MOST of the pulp and seeds in her pumpkin, but when your child is usually eating dirt and poop, raw pumpkin pulp actually seems like an upgrade, so you let her.
The night ended with some good old fashioned fun and trudging around the neighborhood. I will say that I am emotionally exhausted from refusing Resee's PB cups at least a dozen times, but other than that my little butterfly did very well asserting herself at people's doorways and keeping up with the big kids. She has her Mama's blood running through her veins because she was very concerned that I was eating her candy and, at one point, started giving it to her Daddy to hold, because I was suspect. I really don't blame her.
My little June bug spent most of her time in the wagon where she gazed at the super-cool skull light the neighbor gave her until the batteries wore out. She then wrapped herself in a coccoon in the wagon, begged for smarties and deeply mourned the fact that we could not take the fortune teller's ball with us. Her mourning continued through her bath, and into bedtime where we are still not sure if she was crying from lack of owning a fortune teller's ball or from an upset stomach due to ingesting too much raw pumpkin pulp.
My big boy baseball player declared that he had enough candy by 7:15 and that we should head home now. This, of course was music to our ears and we basically sprinted the way back to the homestead, only stopping to listen to our elderly neighbors play a shanty on a guitar and accordian.
Sweet dreams, to the children across America who are going to bed with full gummy tummies, sticky fingers, and chocolate cheeks.
We promise to bathe you before church in the morning.
