It’s been a week of hurts.
The pinnacle came on Sunday when Erik was goofy on Lortab recovering from his hand surgery (scout trip: two breaks, three pins), Mary gashed her arm on the swingset, Ben suffered a jagged splinter through the heart, a neighborhood wrestling match left Gabe’s face covered with scratches and Xander, poor Xander broke his toe and ripped the nail from it’s bed– trailing blood across the floor and filling the house with his screams, “Mommy, mommy! Help me mommy!” And even when he’s in pain I can’t help but love that he still calls me ‘mommy.’
Only Hans, Stefan and I escaped injury and I’m writing this from our hiding spot under the kitchen table. I am, so very sad and sorry for my injured people– especially Xander as he limps around the house and Erik as he struggles to put on deodorant and button his shirt–but, selfishly, I’m also quite sorry for myself that we had to cancel our trip to Lake Powell this week.
I’m spoiled; I know. We did, after all, spend two weeks in Europe this summer. But my poor children came home to a slow and depressed mother, a house full of undone projects and foolish deadlines. More a shadow than a parent, I’ve fed them only sporadically, neglected my duty as the tooth fairy and asked them to repeat their questions not once, not twice, but three or four times.
School starts on the 24th and not one child has had a sunburn. That sounds responsible; but it’s just sad. We need to soak up more summer before school steals my children away during most of the daylight hours.
And somehow I thought a few days at Lake Powell would redeem it all: the star-filled nights, the cool glassy water, the honest hunger after a day of swimming and jumping and skiing and hiking, the tight sunbrowned skin and the hours upon hours uninterrupted by cell phones, television or even my beloved internet.
At the lake, I could be the mother I want to be.
The moment we decided not to go, our vacation days filled in the blink of an eye: Stefan’s Eagle Project, violin lessons, help with the Primary party, a promised shopping trip for my niece, the massive pile of things to ebay… we’ll scratch in an afternoon at my parent’s pool and maybe a dinner out, but no long lazy days together in the sun and sand.
My children don’t mind. They occupy themselves with Playmobil and firecrackers and TV and making 15 second movies.
But I mind, I miss them already.