May 11, 2009

The Best Way to Burn Waffles

This life in limbo, it's a bit like a roller coaster. One where you can't quite see the track, so every up and every down comes at you at 125 mph with no warning. All you know is that you're hurtling through space with your feet dangling in mid-air, and you haven't the foggiest idea what is going to happen next.

I hate roller coasters.

So, this morning, I overcooked the waffles. The toaster waffles. Yes, that's right. I burned Eggos. Bet you didn't even know that was possible.

This after probably my worst Mother's Day ever.

It started off well. My not-yet-ex brought the kids to me late enough in the day that I had a nice sleep, and even better, he was armed with eight doughnuts and a carefully selected DVD all wrapped up in pretty paper. And my kids, they showered me with thoughtful gifts they'd made in school.

Then, all hell broke loose.

It was the doughnuts that did it. There was one pink one with sprinkles, and everyone wanted it. The battle for it began as soon as the gift-giving ended. For the entire rest of the day, they showered me with screaming tantrums, constant arguments, and lots of "No!" My Aspie had not had his meds, so he was spinning through the house like a top, into everything, pushing at everyone, not able to settle. My unnaturally strong three-year-old up-ended - and broke - the coffee table. Everyone was a screaming, whining, horrific mess.

Then, at dinner, as a cap to this oh-so-lovely day, I dropped a full two quarts of iced tea all over my kitchen. Splatters on every cabinet, under the fridge, inside the fridge. I used up 7 dishtowels cleaning it up. And I burst into tears, right there in the kitchen.

My kids did not even look up from the table. But I could hear their conversation.

My diva: "Um, is mom crying?"
My Aspie: "I don't know."
My diva: "I really think she's crying."
My Aspie: "Why is she crying?"
My diva: "I don't know. Maybe we should cheer her up?"
My Aspie: "Oh, yeah! Let's tell her a story!"

... and then the three of them launched into a massive screaming battle over who would get to tell the story, who would be in the story, and how it would end.

That is when I finally gave up. Trundled them off to bed immediately and hunted down the ibuprofen.

I think they remembered though. So, this morning, they met me with hugs and kisses and gifts of gorgeous drawings that "use up the whole page." I got a warm and sweaty matchbox car from a warm and sweaty little hand, and a sweet "Mommy, play with me!" from my three-year-old. My daughter wrote a song for me, then let me do her hair and didn't say "ouch" even once. And my Aspie gave me no complaints - not one - when I reminded him to finish his homework.

All that, followed by a three-part chorus of, "I love you! You're the best mommy ever!"

Mother's Day, take two.

So I burned the waffles. Too busy with the hugs and the kisses to get them out of the toaster oven. And my beautiful, smart, loving children? They ate them. Every bite.

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