blogging · Good Grief · Kids · parenting · The COVID files · whine and cheese

Day 44: We now return you to your regularly (un)scheduled program

Aside from the headache that I’ve had since I woke up on Saturday to news of Aunty Leah’s death, I was mostly okay today. I homeschooled my kids; I took a nap; I raced scooters down the street with E; We went for a bicycle ride. The grief will be with me for a long time, I’m sure, but the kids’ needs are immediate. Grief will have to take a back seat.

There are some kids’ needs that I’ve been putting off for a while. A couple of weeks ago N got so tired of his hair being in his eyes that he cut the front of his hair himself. Not a good look. Tonight I finally stopped procrastinating and brought out my electric clipper set. Here’s the before and after:

N wanted it shorter. I objected on grounds that it was already bedtime and he still needed a bath. He started the bath and I went downstairs.

I had just made a tea and settled down on the comfy couch to write this post when–


Oh, for heaven’s sake! E was asleep and had been for at least an hour. Was he trying to wake her up?


Seriously, kid? You’re up there and I’m down here. You tell me, hmm? And while we’re at it, how about not yelling at the top of your lungs when someone is sleeping?

“Be QUIET!” I tried to shout as quietly as possible, which is an oxymoron, but also seemed to be the only thing I could do… unless you’re thinking I should have gotten off the couch and gone to him myself.

But really, why should his inability to find his own bath products in his own bathroom mean that I have to get up when I’ve only just sat down? In fact, I suddenly recalled that Mr. December was upstairs reading. Surely he would deal with N. Right? And then–


I was about to jump up and go to her when I heard Mr. December walking down the hall to her room. You know what, I thought to myself, he’s the parent too. He can handle whatever it is without me. 

“SARA?” I heard his voice, “CLEANUP, AISLE ONE!”

Great. Just… great. I gave up on my dream of hot tea and joined him upstairs where the cleanup situation was nowhere near as dire as I thought it would be. Several baby wipes later, it was like there had never been a puddle of piddle on the floor outside the bathroom. E’s bed was dry. Everything was fine.

N was ready to be tucked in. We read him the riot act as concerns yelling in the house after bedtime. I hugged him, rubbed his now-velvety head, and tucked him in.

Back downstairs, I sat down with my computer again and–

“Eema? Remember you said we could cut my hair tonight?” K asked.

“Cut how much? I thought we were just trimming your bangs,” I said lamely.

“No, it’s too much work having long hair. I want to cut it to here.” She indicated her jawline with one hand.

“No. Sorry, but no. Not tonight. We don’t have that kind of time.” I said resolutely.

“Can you at least braid my hair so it’s not all knotted in the morning?”

That I could do. We watched The Crown while I braided K’s hair and my tea got cold. N seemed to think it was a good time to come downstairs for a book, and then had the nerve to say that I hadn’t tucked him in yet. I chased him towards the stairs.

“I already gave you a lovely tuck-in. If you choose to get out of bed after I’ve tucked you in, I’m not obligated to tuck you in again. Go. To. Bed!”

Back to my couch, and to my lukewarm tea which was saved from mediocrity by the shot of Frangelico I’d added to it. Back to writing this post. And finally, I was still for long enough to inventory how I was feeling tonight:

Feet – painful and tingly; Headache – barely there; Eyes – still feeling as though I’d cried through the night and not slept a wink; Brain – whirring and whirring and producing nothing. I want to sleep. I want some ice cream.

I want my Aunty back.


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