happy sad revisited

Holy Happy Sad. I'm coming down from a Happy flare up, shoulders at my ears, thick, ugly pain across my neck and back, Baby crying from his bassinet, Barney singing from the TV, the damn neighbor and his lawn mower at it again, just in time for nap. That's it's own fucking story. Dean and the damn lawn mowing machine. For a man who watches TV and smokes 100's all day, you'd think he'd have plenty of time to deal with his damn yard. But whether the kids go down at 1, 2, 3 or 4, Dean's always ready to start things up - perfectly in sync with our random schedule - just to keep the cacophony alive and kickin'. But this isn't his deal.

Sorry dude.

But oh Lord the wrath of Happy Sad. She could barely make it around the corner today without flailing on the sidewalk at every 20 steps. It didn't look like a bite had been taken from her most carefully prepared lunch, so I imagine that low blood sugar was the culprit. From there, we go into the house.

I wanna watch TV!
No, Els, you have to eat something. Here (opening up lunchbox and myriad Tupperware), have a bite of this sandwich. A carrot. Some apple. Anything.
NO! You're not my friend.
Throws lunch items across room.
Eliana, you do not talk to me like that.
I WANNA WATCH TV.
No way, Eliana. You have to apologize. This is not how we behave.
Swings fists at mom. Kicks at mom. Baby Sol jumps and squeals from the Exersaucer, once again sadly neglected.
Eliana, I'm going outside. When you feel ready to apologize, we can talk. Eat this bar. Drink this milk.
Inhales bar. Almost deliberately spills milk but knows better.
I don't like you! You're mean! You're NOT my friend!
Pick up baby, go outside to nurse, as he's hungry. Close back door.
Hellacious screams from inside. Wails. Hyper-ventilation.
Don't lock me in the house!
The drama escalates. My head pounds. Between the two of them someone seemed to be up every hour last night. I have to teach yoga in 20 minutes. I'm supposed to be able to model calm and I'm having a Jerry Springer moment with my toddler.

Deep breath.

Eliana. If you want to watch TV, you need to apologize to your mom.
I'm carrying baby.
NO! You have to put him down! Only one kid at a time. One kid at a time! AHHHHHH!
Flings herself into my arms crying. No!
So no TV.
She's now lying on top of me on the sofa. Sol is back in the saucer. Dejected again.

Eliana, all you have to do is say you're sorry (...and then I can turn on the damn TV and feed your brother and compose myself enough to teach my damn yoga class and be done with this once and for all...)

Wails continue.

I'm just hungry!

Homegirl inhales another nutri-grain bars and a quesadilla. Sucks down a glass of soy milk. Then, like a perfect schizophrenic, apologizes to me for being mean. Like the last horrendous 20 minutes didn't happen. Like she's a perfectly perfect Happy(Sad).

I'm sorry, Mama.
Sorry for what?
Sorry for telling you you're not my friend. And kicking. And yelling. And hitting.

Good Lord.
And it's only Tuesday.