EVPHO

Executive Vice President, Home Operations

Riding the Emotional Rollercoaster

So we all know toddlers are crazy, right?  I mean you don’t have to be a parent to know this.   Anyone who has ever met a toddler has probably experienced their split-personality tendency when they go from screaming fury to pleasant contentment after their parent gives in on whatever it was the psycho-toddler was demanding.

Ok, maybe they aren’t crazy.  They are just learning how to control their emotions and figure out how their behavior can control their environment.  Everything is over dramatized, and because their energy is finite, they vacillate between euphoria and hysterical depression before collapsing from exhaustion.  I know they can’t help it, and I’m supposed to be the one to help them figure out how to manage these emotions, but it is so hard to be the even keel some times.

Supervising this learning process often feels like an emotional roller coaster that leaves my head spinning, torn between vowing never to ride again and wanting to immediately get back on.

I found some notes from December, when they had been sick, and one day the ride was so wild I had made an effort to write it down, positive I was so exhausted I wouldn’t remember.  Re-reading and reliving I see the funny, although it was far from it at the time.

Thursday 12:30am:  Exhaustion.  We normally go to bed 10:30/11pm, but the CEO and I had a hot date the night before and walked in the door at 12:30 am.  I could barely keep my eyes open.  As I fell asleep the room began to spin and I began to regret asking for a 4th glass of wine.  I’m going to pay for this tomorrow.

5:00 am:  Associate A’s meds have run out and he wakes in a fever spiking up at 102.  He is tired, but too miserable to sleep.  I spend the next hour trying to get him comfortable, but nothing seems to work.  He wants me to hold him, but at the same time pushes me away.  He’s shaking with chills but refuses a blanket.  He’s hacking but won’t drink anything.  He wants his lovie, but also doesn’t want it because it is wet from his own tears.

Sometime after 6am we both fall asleep on the couch.  This hour ends in bliss, as my little man is not usually cuddly, so I cherish the chance to hold him while he sleeps.

6:45 am: Associate P wakes up and his meds have also run out.  His fever broke yesterday, but his cough is worse than ever.  He is coughing to the point of gagging and throwing up.  He and I hang out the playroom, and try to let Associate A and the CEO get a little bit more sleep.  I am grateful because he is such a sweet kid.  After one vomit, wash up and new clean shirt on, he instantly coughs and gags up more, but looks and me and apologizes.  “I’m so sorry mommy.”  My poor, sweet kiddo.

7:05 am  Here comes the Cra Cra.  Associate P rolls around the kitchen ground, crying and refusing to drink the “special sick tea” that for the last two days he has been chugging down like a champ.  He is still coughing violently, but now, for some reason, won’t drink the warm water with honey and lemon that I know will soothe his poor throat.  This random refusal drives me insane, as his picky eating habits are growing out of control.  It also wakes up the CEO who stumbles in just in time to play interference before I really snapped on the poor kid.

7:50 am  Potty Bliss.  Associate A wakes up in a good mood (thank goodness) and even tells me he has to go poopies, BEFORE he does it, and successfully drops his first poopie in the potty!!! This is a huge deal as I just recently began encouraging him, and yesterday morning during some naked-time he pooped in the playroom then came and told me, and the night before that he told me as he dropped a big package in the tub.  Speaking up before is a BIG DEAL.

8:45 am Insanity.  Both kids are now adequately medicated and running around like the caged animals they are.  They’ve been cooped up for three days, and they are bored and restless.  They’ve also discovered the jingle bells I put out on the front door when we decorated the house this past weekend.  My head is pounding as I feel the pain of last night’s over-indulgence, and I do not appreciate them screaming Jingle Bells.

There is a rocket waiting to launch just 30 miles north of us at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, so I get them changed and head out the door to the beach in hopes of seeing it take off.  Words cannot describe how much I love living next to the beach – the giant free sandbox from God that keeps little boys happy and occupied for hours.

9:30 am  My associates don’t like my plan of “you two play in the sand while your hungover mommy lays on the blanket and naps” and insist I march up and down the beach finding shells with them.  I have a rough job, I know. You should feel bad for me.

The launch is scrubbed, which leads to the most annoying thing in the world… a three year old asking the same question over and over and over and over and over and over.  I try to explain why, after almost an hour and a half of talking about it and building up excitement, now we will not be seeing a rocket launch.  Associate P does not accept my answer (to windy) and would like me to put him in contact with mission control to get answer’s straight from the commanders mouth.

A 75 degree sunny day in December is reason enough to stay at the beach and we do have a great time.  In fact I’m so content after what had been a very long morning already, I lose track of time, and it is only when I see their noses start leaking uncontrollably again that I realize my launch window has closed.  I better get these kiddos home before they explode on the beach.

That is where the diary ends… and I honestly don’t remember the rest of the day, so I am glad I had typed that bit up.  It is also clear, in retrospect, that perhaps they aren’t really the crazy ones.  I think I am a little crazy for complaining at all.  If that was one of our worst days, life is pretty darn good.  Maybe I am ready to go for another ride…. hmm…

 

 

 

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