Rough Morning

This morning started out like most: The kids woke up before 6:45 and went downstairs to play quietly (and not wake mom). I woke up at 6:45, looked in their empty room and called downstairs to tell them it was time to come upstairs and get ready for the day. Both called out a resounding “no”. *sigh* Mr Siili chimes in that it is time to get ready and to listen to mom. Tadbit comes upstairs a few minutes later and starts getting ready. When Paxlet comes up, his first words are accusatory and angry that I have moved his white paper. It is always my fault when something goes missing or wrong. Even if I wasn’t anywhere near the place or situation. (This time I had actually cleaned the area in question the night before.) Our words immediately become snappy, heated and not pleasant for first words on a Monday morning. Mr Siili comes and separates us and calms the situation down a bit. Once I’m ready, I head downstairs to help Paxlet look for his white square of paper that is “this big”. I find all sorts of papers and then some, but not the paper he wants, which is actually a ‘package’ with treasures/jewels wrapped in it. I vaguely remember seeing something like that, but have no idea where it ended up. I spend 5-10 minutes helping him look for his paper. No luck. However, other pieces of paper are finding their way back to the floor! Every time I turn around there is more paper crap on the floor that wasn’t there literally 5 minutes ago. Paxlet insists he needs a specific conglomerate of taped paper/plastic on the floor, but he can’t tell me why. Can’t? Won’t? Doesn’t know how? I have no idea at this point. More heated words from Paxlet and I. Tadbit is sitting at the table very quietly coloring. I eventually end up back stairs to get the hairbrush for Tadbit’s rat’s nest. I tell Mr Siili that this must be how I was with my mom at this age. And I start crying because I miss my mom. Both kids come up stairs and hug me. All arguments are forgotten and they are only concerned now. Paxlet asks, ‘why are you crying?’ I tell him I miss my mom and want to talk to her, but I can’t. His eyes are concerned and a bit teary. He knows my mom is dead. Tadbit just keeps saying ‘momma, mom-maaa’ over and over again trying to hold my hand. We hug and calm down. Then finish getting ready for daycare and work and head out the door.

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