Yesterday, Seamus was supposed to have a playdate, but I had to reschedule it because I had done some poor planning and my really important yoga class conflicted with Patrick’s conference call, and they both conflicted with the playdate. Seamus wasn’t disappointed at all when he found out because instead, he was going to go with Grandude and Grandma to dinner and to their house.
Some things you think might be heartbreaking for children aren’t, and somethings that you think won’t be too bad cause a total meltdown. Playdate–no big deal with the right substitute. Swimdate rained out? No big deal if the bikes and scooters are working. Homemade Indian food for lunch? Cause for laying on the floor crying, saying, “I hate Indian food, and if you give it to me I’m going to cut your arm off.” Okay then. (All of this happened yesterday–oh, how I don’t enjoy the rainy day.)
After dinner last night, the boys were in the best moods. They had been to Joe’s pizza and had balloons. Gilbert was holding on to his very carefully, but he was banging it around into my legs and Patrick’s legs outside. Well, the string tied to the balloon came undone and the balloon (but not the string) floated up and away. Gilbert sobbed. “I want my balloon back!” And on and on. We tried to show him how high it was going to touch a cloud or an airplane, but he was inconsolable. So I took him inside and he had his blank-blank, some milk, and a cuddle. Then he tried to understand why his balloon had gone. “But I held on with two hands.”
After he felt better, we played a couple of rounds of Hi-Ho Cherry-O. (Gotta train those good cherry pickers). Seamus, after wanting nothing more than to win when he played with me earlier, got very upset when he won, because he wanted to keep playing, and winning meant that the game was over!
Worst ever though: (still) The day we moved Gilbert off a bottle onto a sippy cup. I’m still scarred from that.