Motherhood: How only 15 minutes can take it out of you…

I was doing the laundry in the basement with C (age 2).  He was upset that we didn’t have time to watch the washing machine fill and spin today, so he cried and screamed until I got him distracted and settled down, convincing him that it would be just as much fun to play in a box. 

I began to fold the clothing until he tipped backward out of the box and hit his head.  It wasn’t a hard hit, but enough to send him into a crying fit.

Once again, I calmed him down and began folding clothing again.

Within seconds, I heard screams of terror from D (age 4) upstairs. 

Leaving the 2 year old in the basement playroom, I darted upstairs.

Of course, in mommy mode, I was already yelling his sister’s name as I climbed the stairs.  The scream definitely sounded as if an injury was inflicted on him.

“Do you need to go to your room?” I asked his sister as I walk over to check on D.  (meaning – is there something we need to go talk about upstairs?)

“No.  He hit himself with his block.”

“What?  He hit himself?”  I hug D.  “D, how did you hit yourself?  Were you throwing blocks in the air?”

He couldn’t answer through his sobbing, so I turn to his sister. 

“How did he hit himself?  Was he throwing his blocks up in the air?”

By the look on her face I am beginning to realize that I wasn’t given an honest answer.

“Did you lie to me?  Did you hit D?”

She began to cry.  “Yes.  I hit him with a block.”

D had finally calmed down some, though he was still laying on the floor.  I took his sister into the kitchen.  She is crying because she knows a spank is coming.  After her spanking, I give her a hug and just begin to open my mouth to talk with her when the walls and floor begin to vibrate.

Bass.  LOUD pounding bass is vibrating the house.

It’s Jock Jams, volume II from my 90’s music collection.  And C (age 2) has apparently pumped up the volume downstairs.  And he isn’t getting his groove on.

Oh no.

I leave D laying on the floor and his sister still crying as I dart for the basement door.

C’s piercing screams can be heard above the music now, and I fly down the stairs to turn off the music and rescue him.

I pass him in the hallway, screaming and crying, “I scared.  It loud.  I scared.”

After turning the music off, I scoop up C on my way back upstairs to his sister, who is in the middle of being disciplined for hitting D with a block.  I carry C into the playroom and continue to comfort him while looking around for his sister.

She’s disappeared.

Once C is calmed and I check in with D, I head up to talk to her in her bedroom.  After many hugs and kisses and much talking, the true story comes out.  And you wonder why on earth she lied.

She had tossed a block at her brother and he missed the catch.  It hit him in the head.

*sigh

And in the span of 15 minutes, I am thoroughly exhausted and emotionally spent. 

Just another 15 minutes in the life of a mom. 

Later that night, during my retelling, my husband bursts out laughing as I relay the moment that the stereo blasted out poor C.

I get in a good laugh too.

Yeah, I guess it is all pretty humorous once you are outside of the moment.