the post with no pictures that makes little sense.

The kitchen is a mess.  Both boys are asleep (for now) and it's 8pm.  This is a miracle, and... wasn't pretty getting here.  My dear husband will be working evenings at his restaurant every night this week and this first night of the run was nil too seamless.  No, Loukas skipped his nap today.  There is no special trick that I know that results in his little 2 year old self taking a nap everyday.  We're something like 5 for 7, almost every third or so day- he trades nap for quiet play and today was one of those days.  So as I scrounged around the kitchen (I traded grocery shopping for thrifting today) we ran into several emotional breakdowns until dinner was prepared.  And somehow- I'm still not sure how, maybe I am finally growing up a little- I managed to not sink into joining his no-nap-wanted-more-cartoons-and-a-snack that would diminish his appetite before dinner-colossal meltdown all while chopping and boiling and broiling dinner, wearing and breastfeeding a very tired, ready for bed little brother.  This tantrum was to a point- ok, completely- counter productive.  In wanting to stand my ground and stick to the plan- dinner then straight to bed, hoping Jasper would pass out in the wrap- in not giving into little Lou's sobby demands for treats and Thomas and Friends, I did end up with a sad sack of a little boy that resembled a heartbroken tornado; swirling around in agony blubbering demands and no's and peeing on the floor.  (Yes, he did)  And as a result, the dinner that I prepared currently sits cold, one or two bites ingested, on an abandoned high chair tray. Yes, instead of salmon and pesto quinoa pasta, my little boy ate crackers for dinner.

Should I have just allowed the 'toons and apple slices and endured an eventual breakdown when it was time to turn off the show, and (not) eat his dinner?  Should I have just gone with the flow, avoiding all this conflict and distress? Or was I right to stand my ground and calmly not engage, going about my dinner preparation business- one where I triumphantly stirred the weekend's baked crab and artichoke dip into my portion of the pesto noodles (which also sit, uneaten on the kitchen stove)...  I don't know.  Because I just don't know what the hell I am doing.

Yet, Somehow- even until I was at last able to get that little boy mess to bed after a manic half hour of bathing, squeezing in a nursing-to-sleep session for little brother (during which Lou's tantrum-engine's cooled, he smiled at me silently laying next to his brother, running into the kitchen for bites of his salmon)- I stayed calm.  I half heartedly read my exhausted little Fox his favorite book of the moment, curious george makes pancakes. His consequence for all his unbecoming behavior, I silently decided, was that tonight's story would lack the usual zeal with which I play the characters of his nightly bedtime stories. 

Somehow, tonight I was able to not lose my shit.  I did not yell or scold or plead or bargain.  I just did what needed to be done and stayed calm and after his lack-luster bedtime read gently reminded Loukas that he needed rest to be happy and healthy.  That I love him no matter what.  And I do.  And I accept his behavior for what it clearly was:  an overtired tiny person who couldn't make it through dinner.  It was important and is important to me that I stayed calm.  

Maybe because I heard a mommy say to her little girl (about Loukas' age) who wanted to look at the strollers and bouncers and such at the thrift store today, "NO! you're not a baby anymore!" and my heart sank and my stomach hurt because she is a baby, that mama's baby- or hell, maybe she just wanted to play baby.  Or maybe because another mama grabbed her tired and (probably hungry because it was lunch time) whining little person up and said 'you are getting on my nerves' right to her little person face that I was able to stay calm for my little person tonight.  And maybe because I discussed with my husband this morning (serendipitously as it would turn out) that because I had seen status updates on facebook judging parents for their misbehavior in public towards their kiddos that I would work to ultimately feel compassion towards those jerk parents in question because certainly no one ever sets out to be hurtful to their child.  And there is no way to know, but I imagine all ugliness paid to a child does not come from a place where happiness lives or where rest and peace are dwelling or where comfort and joy visit regularly.  Most often, these things we hear for a moment are ignorant and thoughtless and come from a stressful place, where needs are not regularly met.  From a tired place, from a lonely place, from and unknowing place, from a broken place.  Those tired, frustrated ill-prioritized persons are just that.  Persons.  And, my, how painful to realize that the words that escape my own mama lips ever rest upon the miraculous ears of my babies and hurt their hearts.  Because it happens.  Not to a 'not a baby anymore, you are on my nerves' degree, but it happens- with sarcasm and half minded presence and frustrated faces and raised voices.  But not tonight, and that feels good.

 I don't feel it healthy to compare myself, but I do get a taste of what it might be like to be a single mother or military wife twice or thrice a week (this week six times) when my husband works the dinner shift and, heavens, it's not so great.  And, yes, my 'nerves' get gotten on.  But today I learned two valuable lessons:  skipping the grocery store might result in the invention of crab dip pasta which is delicious, and skipping the grocery store might land you at the thrift shop where you intrinsically progress to a person you hope you can remain, having grasped teachings repeated time and time again from a man who centuries ago meant to show us all that being a good person doesn't always mean doing good.  It means seeing others not at their best and loving and having compassion for them anyway and taking that home and living that word, not realizing what a profound impact two strangers' sentences at the thrift might have had on maybe the rest of your life until you ramble out a blog post throughout the course of your Tuesday evening.

And in the time that it has taken me to compose this short not-so-together blog post, my kids have taken turns waking and crying and waking again.  Like, 6 times. And my nice husband has returned from work and cleaned my dinner mess and Jasper is ooooing and ahhhing and chatting it up, I can hear from the bedroom.  So off I go... no fun photos or updates of the cuteness which are my little boys... til next time...