This is what a Time Out looks like.
Those photos are of two of my favorite moments from the weekend, probably because they’re one of the few where I wasn’t screaming my face off about something. (Something like Phoebe taking all the containers of yogurt and opening each one – all six of them – and squeezing them just to feel it ooze over her hands and onto the table and chair and floor and rug. Or something like Julia and Lucy wearing boxes and beating each other brainless in a game of “Robot Fight Club.”)
I’ve been yelling too much, lately. It seems to be what I do when I’m sinking. And I know, I know. There’s lots of good advice out there. Take deep breaths. Count to ten. Try whispering! Ask myself, “Who’s the grown up?” (It’s best to ask and answer that question in one’s head. Yelling, “I AM THE GROWN-UP” to the children doesn’t convince anyone.) But when I get in a cycle of going from zero to nuclear explosion in six seconds, what I really need is a Time Out.
So this is what a Time Out looks like.
For me. (Not the kids.)
She can’t stop singing that earworm.
I couldn’t love them more.
Jackson has been pushing himself up.
You can’t tell, but he’s wearing a Superman onesie. I wanted to grab a picture when he pushed himself up high enough that you could see the S on his chest (because he can do that for a few seconds!), but my camera battery died after the first shot.
Julia had her first softball game of the season last night.
She’s playing shortstop this year, and from what I hear, she made some great plays last night.
Yeah, I missed that game, too. I’m also the only coach’s wife that doesn’t handle the team’s paperwork and keep the “business end” organized. But I have a doctor’s appointment today at which the doctor will ask me how things are going and I will burst into tears because GUILT, so much guilt, like I’m being stoned with GUILT, and she will offer me anti-depressants. I will say no. (I’m afraid that if I take them now I’ll be on them forever.) And I’ll wipe my tears and say I just need to exercise. (I do.) Then I’ll eat a King size Snickers on the way home.
There are sixteen days left in the school year. The girls are wearing shorts and going barefoot.
And the hand prints are now on the outside of the door.