It said Thursday on the calendar, but the calendar lied. Thursday apparently decided that one Monday for the week wasn’t enough, so it dressed up like Monday.
In fact, Thursday did such a good job of pretending it beat Monday at its own game. That week I went to war with Thursday and I became its casualty.
The morning started off with me waking up late, which happens all the time. But today, it made everyone in the family late because my husband had to act as my chauffeur since my clunker of a car decided to break down. I waited all day to hear about my car, hoping it would be an easy fix, praying the voice on the other end of the line would tell me he was bringing me my vehicle. That didn’t happen.
My car remained out of commission. So my husband left work early to pick our son up from daycare. I worked late while I waited for him to pick me up, too. In turn, we got home late, which meant we ate late. For most kids, this wouldn’t be a problem. But for mine, it was.
Late dinners are hard for my boy. When he’s sleepy, he doesn’t like to eat. So, to make things easier, I made one of his favorites: popcorn chicken. I threw some vegetables on the plate with the chicken as a last stitch effort to make it nutritionally sound. I sat his plate on the Mickey Mouse table in our living room with his big boy cup next to it, and called for him to come eat. Silence. I called again. No sound of footsteps.
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I went to his play room and coaxed him out. We went into the living room and I made him sit down. I walked away, breathing a sigh of relief.
That was easier than I thought.
My relief was shattered by a streak of a two year old running past me, back to his play room. I took a deep breath and followed after him. I picked him up, carried him to his seat, and told him to eat. He laughed, jumped up, and ran to his room again. I followed once again and brought him back to his seat, asking him to please sit down and eat for Mummy.
The frustrations of the day boiled inside me, to the point an eruption seemed eminent. The Thursday that was really a Monday had worn all the patience I was capable of mustering beyond thin and now my son was trying to squeeze out every last drop of it. I was angry. I was tired. And I just wanted him to eat.