Of course I want him to come home. BUT his arrival is nothing short of explosive. The serene energy that appeared so beautifully when he left is inhaled into the earth like poor Lois Lane and her car when that geological fault takes them both. There was a time when I did not have the proper amount of respect for the energy production of a three year old. And one day, several months ago, the surface of my solitude was broken like a cannon ball jump into the deep end of a pool.
He is so excited to see me. And I him. He rings the doorbell. And, when I answer the door I’m greeted by cerulean eyes peeking over a bouquet mixed spring flowers. “These are for you, Mama.” Then he carelessly drops the bouquet in my hands as he speeds over to the stairs to take off his shoes. He’s up and in the playroom before the petals stop trembling from their rapid delivery.
I struggle to climb the stairs with my arms wrapped around the Lightning McQueen suitcase, his coat and the flowers. I settle everything on the floor by the couch and walk into the playroom where Mr. Three Because I’m Three has started building a new train layout.
“Will you play trains with me, Mama?” he pleads. My head is suddenly overwhelmed with fog. I realize that I’m tired despite having had a reprieve from my motherhood responsibilities. I acquiesce moving slowly to the floor to play with my son. But then I get up to make myself a cup of tea and he’s at my ankles. “Mom, where are you going? I thought you were going to play trains with me?” I assure him that I am but that I need to get my tea first.
But even after getting my tea I am in and out of the room. What I really want is for him to play on his own for a bit so that I can focus on acclimatizing. But he is a child and continues to poke me. He orders me around in that oh-so-charming-and-irritating way that only a three year old can do until find myself at wit’s end and I tell him that I’m not going to play trains anymore.
Loch can hear our verbal scuffle and comes to offer assistance. When he asks me what he can do I lose a piece of myself and yell, “I can’t play fucking trains all day.” By this time, Corbin has broken down and Loch is telling me that I’m behaving just like our son only I’m using bad words. I walk away to recover and feel ashamed that my son and I have fought only an hour into his arrival back home.
This moment teaches me that I have to prepare myself. His energy is not going to change, nor should it. Now I usually choose some kind of transition activity to prepare myself for his return. If I ensure that I am rested then I can ride on the coattails of my solitude for the rest of the day and treat us all with dignity and respect.
Photo Credit
“Thomas the Train” Corey T. Burns @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.
Recent Christine Shaw Roome Articles:
- Becoming Me
- An Award for Being Herself
- World's Smallest Book
- Giving up My Birthday for Water
- International Women's Day 2012: Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures.
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