cat named pig

Why, some days, does it seem like as soon as I have accomplished the preschool drop-off (including lugging of screaming almost-two-year-old who wants to stay and play up a staircase crowded with other kids and parents trying to descend) and successfully gotten Elliot settled down for his nap — why does it seem like the clouds part and a ray of sunshine beams directly into my living room and a chorus of angels starts singing “Hallelujah?” 

Probably because no one is asking me for anything.

It’s just been one of those mornings. No major catastrophes, but I’ve been gritting my teeth into crumbs since I got up. Maybe it’s because every time I leave the room, Siena summons me back by making the sort of noise I would make if a six-foot scorpion burst through the living room window and started shooting laser beams out of its tail.

And what crisis is causing her to scream like this? What urgent situation does she need me to address right-this-second? Well, it seems she’s having some trouble drawing a diamond shape. It just doesn’t look right. Or perhaps she needs more milk on her cereal. Or another bowl of cereal. (I swear, they both eat their body weight in breakfast cereal before noon every day.) Or maybe Elliot touched something of hers. That she left lying in the middle of the floor.

All of those, plus thousands of other minor inconveniences, appear to necessitate the kind of freak-out most people reserve for giant arachnid attacks.

And Elliot just responds to the generally escalated level of tension by screaming in Gibberish or yelling “MAMAMAMA” repeatedly. (“What?” I ask, and he just smiles at me.) He’s not even upset about anything — he just wants to be sure his needs aren’t overlooked, and he sees from Big Sister’s example that screaming brings parental attention. 

Meanwhile I’ve consumed a gallon of coffee (without which my eyelids would remain fused like a newborn kitten’s, making it hard to perform my role as Emergency Responder around the house) and all the adrenaline from the screaming combines with the caffeine to make my heart pound somewhere in the middle of my throat. I take some deep breaths and make some tea, trying to ease out of panic mode. “An attitude of gratitude will bring opportunities,” the tag on my teabag cheerfully informs me (or some similar nugget of yogi wisdom).

And I am grateful, I swear. I am grateful for these two loud, healthy kids. I am grateful that I am able to stay home with them, and respond to their needs (urgent or not). I am grateful for the thousands of ways they crack me up in the course of a typical day, and the way they breathe so hard when they concentrate on something. I am grateful that I am here to notice little things like that, and I am even grateful that they interrupt my many feeble attempts to wash one load of laundry, drawing my attention back to them and reminding me over and over that they will only be this age for another brief minute, even if it feels like an eternity.  

But right now, sitting down with the laptop while one sleeps and the other plays at school, I am mostly just grateful for the silence.