pushing

When I close my eye lids, the inside feels cold and burning at the same time.  It's only 7:30, but I'm tired like it is 3:00 a.m.  

John really wanted to go to the last ever dive meet at the University of Maryland.  Two divers of his that mean a lot to him are on that team-in a large part due to his training and connections.  It is also his alma- ater, and where he would have loved to have had the chance to coach.  I completely understand why going means so much to him.  I just think that it is a bad idea!  The drive down is long, the meet is long, the drive back is long.  Of course, all of this "long" stuff is relative, but right now, it is being compared to lying in a hospital bed all day for 4.5 days, and not being allowed to even get up to use the bathroom for 4 of those days!!  For heaven's sake, he got winded walking the short hallway to the elevator.  I completely HATE having to be the one to push and tell him that it is too much too soon.  He apparently called his father to complain about my disapproval.  Not sure he knows I know that, as I found out while having our son call his grandmother to tell her how he did on his report card.  (He BLEW past all the goals for reading, did wonderful in math, and needs to work on writing and his self control.  I can see that.)  She told me that Bob agreed with me when John was kvetching about the whole thing.  I guess that surprised him.  

It seems like small people know when you are just dancing on that line between "doin' ok" and "about to snap".  The three kids were playing so great while I was cleaning the kitchen and fuming about this whole thing.  It's just that everything they were doing somehow required YELLING VOICES.  Which I really wanted to stop.  Really really.  I asked them, I yelled at them, I yelled again, I made Cilly sit and think about how she could play without screaming (she sat on her head like, for those of you who are familiar, my old hero Mork from Ork), and then I finally went in and popped their behinds.  And while this was happening, I had to leave water running to stop Neil from:  throwing the dish towels in the trash, emptying the pantry of all the crackers, pulling out the dirty dishes I was trying to load into the dishwasher, and bring me the bottles of Fusion that were within his reach.  Thankfully, the dog food is up high while he is staying with a friend, or I am sure that would have been in the mix somewhere.  He likes to play with it and throw it around, scoop it out, and not put it back in the bowl.  And did I mention his current game is bashing me in the face and grabbing my hair, a clump in both hands, and pulling side to side.  Neither the bashing nor the pulling is particularly hard, but it is, none the less, one of my least favorite Neil games.  

I put them to bed early.

Now I kinda wish I had remembered to stop and get some more wine.