Groceries

My husband must have again decided that sprinkling bath salts on my dinner was a fine idea because I took the two little girls shopping with me this evening.

They actually did really well during the shopping part itself.  Hell, even the drive home was good.  We talked about how they were going to get home and get in the bath with no fits and then if they did a good job with that they could have a donut and a juice box.

Yes, I am totally aware that that constitutes a bribe.  With food.  My anxiety is already through the roof contemplating all of the eating disorders they will develop.  Don't judge me because I judge myself enough for the both of us.

I forgot one fact about my kids though.  Their bed time is their bedtime is their bedtime.  When Alexis was a baby, it was a struggle to get her to stay awake past 5:30 PM for the longest time. (After, of course, she got over that whole "I am never ever going to sleep ever so stop fucking torturing me MOTHER" thing as a very young infant...)  We eventually worked her up to 7 PM as a bedtime, which was rough during the summer time when it was still totally light out and I wanted to go outside and the above mentioned anxiety made me stay within monitor range...Charlie was not *quite* that bad, nor was Elizabeth, but by God, if you fuck with their sleep the demons of hell are released and the zombie apocalypse may as well start because you, my friend, are totally screwed.

We got home.  I took Charlie out of the car seat, attempted to trudge through the mud to bring the groceries in (no attached garage, or any kind of garage at all really, on the homestead, unfortunately) and I had the audacity to ask Charlie to carry in a roll of wrapping paper.

O. M. G.  The world collapsed around her, E no longer equaled MC squared, and peas and carrots had a bitter divorce and are currently engaging in smear tactics in the media.  I am pretty sure the howl of protest that child emitted tore the space/time continuum.  She had a melt down that made Chernobyl look like an X-ray.  I thank God we have pretty cool neighbors and that the old man who lives across the street is in Florida with his wife...because otherwise I am pretty sure the law would have been called.

I unpacked the groceries, studiously ignoring the meltdown like the good parent that I pretend to be on occasion should.  Alexis hops into the bath, gets herself the donut and the juice as promised, all the while Charlie is screeching like a banshee.  In the meantime, she has also gotten herself put into time out for trying to hit me and Alexis.  (To be honest, I am surprised she stayed there...I thought for sure it was going to be a chair in the middle of the room with nothing around and her being strapped in kind of time out.)  I go over to her to attempt to get her naked for her bath...she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls down in an effort to keep me from taking it off.  I put her in the bath and she is sobbing so hard that she is choking on the boogers.  She never even sits down.

I get her out of the bath and get the bright idea that she needs lotion on her body because her eczema is flaring up yet again.  Since I am slightly crunchy (OK, probably pretty crunchy for the rural standards I live in...) I grabbed the coconut oil I keep in the bathroom for oil pulling as it has proven far more effective than the prescription cream at clearing that shit up.  I pull off a chunk (for those of you who don't know, coconut oil is solid at room temp) and use it to lather her up.  Dumb idea.  Ever hear of a greased pig?  Yeah, she was not exactly being compliant at that moment, so it was interesting to get her into her jammies to say the least.

I got her a tissue and she blew her nose; then she FINALLY decided to try to belly breathe.  I take her upstairs, she snuggling against me and burying her face in my neck.  I tuck her in and give her kisses, singing her the Charlie girl song I made up for her when she was a baby. 

"Charlie girl, my Charlie girl, you are my Charlie girl".

She looks at me, so sleepy and exhausted.  I tell her, "Mama knows.  I know what it is like to have those kinds of feelings and not feel like you can control them."  I do.  When I was little, my emotions frequently overpowered me.  I was my own worst enemy most times, though to some extent I was reacting to things around me as well.  It is incredibly scary to have such powerful emotions.  Especially when you are over tired and just done like she was.

It might be a while before she comes grocery shopping with me again.  And also, I am very grateful for the Raz-Beer-Ritas I bought tonight.  Great planning on my part!