Duncan has a cold. He's had a night time cough since Thursday night and a runny nose since yesterday. The Easter Bunny brought him a nose that runs like a faucet. He was excited about the candy and the egg hunt. Nevertheless, he felt a little crummy. And it was a little too cold to play outside today. And we wouldn't let him eat as much candy as he wanted. And dinner was a little late. And he sat on the potty for 20 minutes wiping his poor, red nose with tissues. And it was nearly 7:00 by the time I was running the bath water. And that was when he discovered the wipe was gone.
Duncan often likes to play with wipes. Why, I know not. He likes to wipe himself, his animals, and his books with them. He often plays with one while he's on the potty and then takes it (clean...don't worry) into the bath with him. Last night, he left his wipe on the side of the bathtub for safekeeping, but I didn't know that because Jamie gave him his bath last night. I saw it when I got into the shower, wondered "what's that wipe doing there," and threw it away.
So when I confessed that I had thrown it away, Duncan went straight into the garbage to get it back. But it wasn't there because Jamie took the trash to the dump today. So I said "Duncan, I'm sorry I threw away your wipe, but we can't get it back. It's in the dump now."
For Duncan, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. "I don't WANT IT TO BE IN THE DUMP." No other wipe would do. He had a new collection of two or three wipes by now. He cried inconsolably. He refused to get into the tub. He refused to skip his bath. He refused to calm down. He refused pretty much everything. Finally, Jamie had to come rescue me because I had begun getting angry, really, really, angry. And then I had to go finish cleaning the kitchen instead...the kitchen in which I had been cooking an Easter dinner from 3:30 on (it wasn't that exciting an Easter dinner)...the kitchen in which I slammed dishes and threw a temper tantrum until Jamie and Duncan came to ask me about medicine, and I remembered that this was all about a poor little boy with a raw, red nose running like a faucet.
So tonight, I am the worst mother and the worst wife, and I am worried about Duncan's cold, and I feel crummy. It really was a lovely day. If I had written this post at lunch time, it would have been about how I loved watching Duncan hunt for Easter eggs, how I ate candy only in moderation and managed to stay within my Weight Watchers points allowance, how I finally got my laundry done early enough to enjoy the afternoon, how I made my first scalloped potatoes ever, how I freed the treadmill from the tyranny of clutter that had taken it over, how I cleaned out the hall closet and found 4 coats to donate to the homeless shelter...
I wish I had a tree house so I would have a place to run away, but I don't. It's probably better I don't; if I did, I might have been there instead of here, and I would have missed this: "I was cryin' Mama." "I was too, Duncan." "I was cryin' REALLY hard." "Yeah, me too." "You dry your tears Mama?" "Yeah. Did you dry yours?" "Yeah." "I hope you feel better." "You too, Mama."
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