seven six forty five am and Aryeh’s at the foot of my bed whining.
“Come play with me,” he entreats the inert lump under the covers, which he correctly assumes is me. Doesn’t he know an object at rest stays at rest? Or the sacredness of Mom’s Day Off of Work?
I beg, cajole, bribe, and insist but he’s just as stubborn as me and has age on his side.
“At least watch me play,” he begs. Eventually, I grumpily cave, leaving my warm cocoon for the jungle.
It’s seven PM Yaakov is on his
sixth eighth tenth tantrum of the day, this time because he wan
ts a water bottle he will never finish and no one else will be allowed near due to his waterfall of a cold.
I insist he can drink from a cup and that he should just stop this tantruming once and for all and doesn’t he want to go to sleep calm and relaxed. Enter dad who does a quick one over, opens the bottle, and hands it to a wide-eyed
Yaakov, who proceeds to guzzle joyously.
Book time over, lights out, the day’s finally over. Until Aryeh realizes he’s been jipped and throws a massive tantrum of his own, over the unfairness of only being allowed to drink water before bed. The tantrum goes on for a full fifteen minutes, replete with hiccups, breath-catching, and heart breaking wails.
The day’s ended almost as disastrously as it began.
The only thing that keeps me sane, that keeps me going, in those long hours between the day’s first seven and it’s last, are these moments in between.
Like the one when 29 lb Aryeh starts reading 31 lb Yaakov a book and Yaakov keeps insisting “brudder lat, brudder lat.” (translation: brother, lap). They tried. It didn’t work. But man was that funny.
Or when I tried reading Aryeh a book and told Yaakov we could play his game after it was over and my barely talking not even two year old turned the cover over and said “da end.”
And when Aryeh solemnly asked me if the smell in the car might be from the bag on the seat since “it looks like there’s a dead grey cat tied up in there.”
Or when he lifted an item that shall not be named but which I wear daily and asked if I still used it since I didn’t have a baby anymore and if I used to keep him in it too or just his brother.
Or when Yaakov brought me the milk to pour him some and I told him to bring the open one and he took my hand and led me to the fridge to show me that none were open- they all had their covers on.
Yes, I do end most days feeling like I’m losing my mind. And I start them wishing I could postpone the morning just a little bit (or a lot). And I’ll even admit to nearly collapsing, exploding, and/or giving up around
fifteen three hundred times a day.
But at least I have those moments in between. Those are the moments that keep me alive.
Until they do, I thank G-d for my moments.