Tonight I marched Sprout out of the house – barefoot, pitch black, chill in the air, well past bed time, and plunked him in the car where he screamed and raged like a possessed demon. All because his bath wasn’t deep enough for his liking.
Okay, not really, let me back up…
So today is Wednesday, and if you’ve been reading for any length of time, you now know that’s visit day. Which has been no big deal for the past long while. Little things here and there, but nothing mentionable – fine, really. But of course it’s always fine, until it’s not. Which is what brought us to tonight. Its been going well for so long that I think Sprout almost forgot what it used to be like. And he’s been talking about this visit all week since mom promised him a new toy. I tried to warn him. I tried to gently put those buffers in place. But it didn’t help – nothing does, really, when you are 5 and have been looking forward to seeing your mom all week and getting an exciting new toy from her…and then she doesn’t show.
There’s nothing like that familiar disappointment to bring the crazy right back up to the surface.
At first he was just plain sad. bummed. disappointed. All the things he had every right to be. We talked about it, validated those feelings, and he went on about his afternoon…seemingly unphased. But the cracks always show themselves at night when its dark, he’s tired, and is faced with the inevitableness of being left alone with his big feelings in his big bed.
So this time, instead of asking for more cluddles, to be rocked to sleep, or an extra book at bed time, he flipped the F out.
And you know what I realized – literally just now as I’m typing this (welcome to my stream of consciousness) – I realized that its okay. We are going to have these days and its okay. I’m strong enough, he’s strong enough; crazy, bring it on.