What really happened.

Things started out innocently enough yesterday.  We listened to more Winnie the Pooh.  We lounged in pajamas, our bed hair sticking out wildly.  I finished the blog entry.  We determined that pancakes were in our near future.  But by then we were all tired and cranky and HUNGRY.  Meltdowns ensued… and mine was the first.  I knew I was dealing with low blood sugar (it always = snapishness) when M spilled a *little* flour mixture on the counter and I reminded her that all of the flour needed to stay in the bowl (“thanks mom, and while you’re at it, could you drop a few bucks in my therapy fund for my future issues with perfectionism?”).

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It was as if irritability bred irritability within me and before long I was ready to pull the bowls from their hands and mix the dry ingredients into the wet properly.  According to R, after that I used my “scary voice” which led to tears from R & M and apologies from me.  I shoveled granola and yogurt into my face as I flipped pancakes in an attempt to raise my blood sugar.  It helped, as did fresh warm fluffy pancakes but the day continued to challenge us and I realized that with so little sleep (about 3 hours) I was grouchy and short-fused.  It reminded me of how I’d felt when M & R were babies on a three-hour feeding schedule and I had such difficulty feeling any embodied sense of happiness or hope. There were two more incidents of temper loss that required apology.  One included finger-wagging.  Ugh.  Thankfully, Mr. Cartigan took over at bath time, allowing me time to curl up on the couch with a book.  It went unread as I fell promptly asleep of course.

R, fresh from her bath, pulled the pillow out from under my sleeping head. “I need my pillow.  You can use M’s.” I heard her say cheerfully as I wakened.  I was too groggy to move or protest and shut my eyes again but shortly found myself surrounded by the freshly bathed girls and the sane and kind Mr. Cartigan.

I moved toward the bedroom, and once the girls were pajama’d with teeth brushed we all cozied in under our soft comforter and Mr. Cartigan sat on the edge of the bed to talk about the day.  Then the good feelings were back.  Was it the nap? The coziness of being tucked in with the promise of more sleep? The presence of Mr. Cartigan who joked about snacking on R and M’s feet? I don’t know. I was just glad they were back.  Those feelings help me feel like myself.

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