cycle

round and round and round and round

each day the same, slowly racing toward nightfall, slow hour by slow hour, a  snail’s minute

the day like thick molasses or treacle, a numbness, a lethargy

the daily dailiness, dilly, dally, learn, learn, learning

leaning on me

some minutes sweet, some minutes bitter or sour or loud or quiet

its all the same.  to me. not to them. to me,

maybe i can remember in my old age, my dotage

maybe, maybe

10:13 a.m.

The 5 year old has has his first time out for the day for hitting his brother.

 

And they don’t call it The Terrible Twos for nothing.

 

Everything he wants to do is either dangerous or destructive.  And putting an end to it creates the screeches and the tears.  And of course he needs to be held while he is falling apart. So he can screech in my ear.  (Did I mention my noise sensitivities?)

 

Raising your voice only makes him worse.  Same with an abrupt movement prompted by frustration. Putting him down too quickly. It sets him off again; he’s sure that his whole world is ending and there is no love left anywhere.  So he cries.  No matter how frustrated or angry you are, you have to be quiet and gentle.

 

It’s hard.

 

I know you think it’s not, but it is.

 

Now they are playing “recycling”. It involves gathering up a wide variety of things from here and there, collecting them in the recycling basket and dumping them in piles on the floor.

Breakfast

The 2 year old had to sit on my lap for breakfast this morning.

 

He stole my fork.

 

He also stole my bacon.

 

I ate the rest of my pancake with my bare fingers.

 

While I was, the 5 year old read to me his encyclopedia entry of the morning regarding space. He explained to me the origins of the solar system.

 

Just your usual day.