From Monsters to Cherubs


It has been a long week. 

Jon was gone two days.  I let the kids stay up late with me so they were grumpy and mean in the morning.  Mario had a horrid meltdown when I turned off the fan yesterday morning.  He flung his little body against his crib and wailed.  I tried to turn the fan back on and allow him to turn it off but that just pissed him off more.  “No mommy, go away!”  Wah, wah, wah, wah.  Ugh, I just want to scream at the top of my lungs during these moments and tell him to get a life. 

But rather, I walk into my room, lay on my bed, and breathe. 

It usually takes 3 minutes and then he brings his sobbin’ butt onto my bed.  Maria, on the other hand, turns completely silent when she is grumpy or angry.  While Mario was busy wailing and flailing all around, Maria was in her room, door closed, stewing over the fact that I told her I didn’t want to play Barbies 2.2 seconds after we woke up.  I need time to get into that Barbie playing thing.  Before I could even get out the words “not right now” she stomped away from my bed, slammed her door shut, and yelled “Don’t come in my room, Mom!”  Oh, that is so fine with me, little girl. 

After Mario got in bed with me, he realized Maria was not around.  “Where’s Ria?’ I think to myself “the prima donna spoiled thing is in her room wishing evil on me” but I paraphrase that thought to “Ria is in her room.”  He jumps up to check on her sensing something is wrong. 

I continue to lay on my bed, eyes on the cracked ceiling, thinking about what this life is all about.  I tend to get philosophical in times like these for good or bad.  After about 10 minutes of silence out of Maria’s room, I decide I better check on the insane children.  I go in and see this picture.  

Maria reading to her little brother

Every horrible thing they have done or said in the last twenty minutes is forgotten and I am consumed with affection.  Maria is such the mother hen to that little brother.  She is patient when he asks five questions about the same thing on a page and she allows him to choose any book he wants to read.  He is mesmerized with her as she reads to him and trusts her words completely.  The scene is heart-stirring.  

Why can’t it be like this every second of the day?  I mean, really?! 

In sum, it would be boring, I guess.  I wouldn’t get any philosophizing done without the craziness.  I need those meltdowns over fans and Barbies to genuinely appreciate such charming moments.

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