He asked me to carry him in to school.  He doesn’t ask very often, rarely if I am being honest. Most days he is content to hold my hand, carry his monkey and a matchbox car. I oblige knowing that those forty pounds are a lot to carry but that it is so rare that it is worth it. He rests his head on my shoulder, like he did every night on Glenn’s before bed.  I set him down as we walk in to his room, his friends eager to greet him and him not ready to be social.  He walks up to his teacher and says, “My mommy has to work. My daddy pick me up. I already  miss my mommy.”  I wonder if he knows that I work for him. I work because I believe in what I do. And I miss him too.

She was fussy all night. She was fussy all day. I was tired and exasperated after having her sick brother at school with me for the afternoon. She cried when I was getting dinner ready. She cried getting out of the bath. She just kept crying.  And at one point, I asked her why she cried so much. I told her it was making me crazy.   Hoping for an answer waiting for an answer and she wouldn’t give me one, because she’s one.  After getting jammies on both kids, teeth brushed and hair combed, I set him up with the ipad on our bed. And I took her into her nursery for a bottle of warm milk and she didn’t want it. I was frustrated and she was crying. So, I put her on my shoulder and she fell asleep instantly. Her head getting heavier with each rock in our glider and the tears started to flow.  I was ashamed.  Ashamed that was so impatient with her. Ashamed that I was not able to see that she was tired, she needed me and I needed to be better. So, I let the tears fall.

I look at that chair every time I come in our kitchen. It’s legs are usually broken.  Its wear not showing because it is butcher block but the memories are painted in the stain.  This table and these chairs has been with me since I was a kid. I don’t remember it not being in our house. We did homework at it, we drew on it, we pushed our pencil lead in to it making marks and divots when we didn’t want to do our homework. We ate Avanti’s at that table after big victories and licked our wounds over food on nights when we didn’t play our best. We sat around it with our friends, boyfriends even the one who became my husband. Replace it. Get something new. I think I should and but I can’t. Not until I have to.