Today started with downs and ended with ups. Jay and Z woke up first this morning, complaining of sore throats. Not long after, G woke up with a hoarse cough and an intense whine. Homeschooling today is going to be fuh-uhn, I moaned to myself. (Seven-year-olds aren't the only ones who whine.)
The kids and I limped through the morning, getting a decent amount of homework done, although the subject matter didn't help our moods. G's vocabulary exercise used a narrative about Anne Frank to teach words like "dreary," "tragic," and "appalled." Not a cheery subject. We did have a few nice moments together though, my favorite of which was standing just inside the garage, sticking our arms out into the fast-falling rain.
Because of the morning sore throats, I wasn't sure if the boys were going to get their weekly overnight stay with the FILs, but when I talked with Mrs. FIL around 1:00, the kids seemed to be acting/feeling pretty normal, so we planned on a 4:00 drop-off. I happily dropped off for a nap, looking forward to saying goodbye to the kids for 18 hours and having date night with Jay.
At 3:00, I was awakened by noise from the vicinity of the Xbox 360: high-pitched crying from G, followed by yelled threats, followed by Z shouting, "I'm going to tell Mommy!!" followed by a frantic knock on my bedroom door, followed by indistinct tattling, followed by a wailing G stomping off to his bedroom, followed by the sound of muffled pillow-punching and a return of the hoarse cough.
It was at this point I texted Mrs. FIL and told her that the kids' emotional fragility indicated physical illness and they should probably stay home. It was also at this point I felt particularly low. I don't understand seven-year-old boys, I griped. I'm so sick of the eye-rolling and the I-know-better-than-Mommy-does attitude. He's way too sensitive. I'm sure I wasn't this volatile as a seven-year-old. Frankly, I had really been looking forward to getting rid of the kids for the evening, and now on top of my own disappointment I dreaded breaking the news to them. Meanwhile, whimpers of, "This is the worst day EVER!" were floating from G's bedroom...and he hadn't even gotten the bad news yet. I groaned.
Then Jay called on his way home from work.
"Hey, so I hear the kids are too sick to leave tonight?" he asked. I glumly answered in the affirmative.
"How about I pick up pizza on the way home, and we can eat it while we watch a movie, and then make popcorn," he suggested.
"Well," I brightened, "we do need milk anyway...so you could stop by the store to pick up the pizza and milk...and how about ice cream for root beer floats?" Suddenly we had a plan for a fun evening and I had something positive to tell the kids!
It's amazing how well our sons respond to junk food + television. There were cheers of excitement throughout the rest of the evening; in fact, when Z found out he could have a second glass of root beer, he cried out, "This is the best day EVER!" G and I got cuddles on the couch instead of the discord we'd struggled with during homework this morning, and I further endeared myself to the kids by agreeing to watch a bit of a machinima show they and Jay enjoy.
But the true high of the day came when I tucked the boys into bed and settled into our little prayer time. G prayed first. "Dear God, please help the people with leukemia and the people with AIDS. Please take away the AIDS from those people and make their bodies even more powerful than they were before. And please help the people with malaria, and the ones with smallpox. And please give orphans families, especially families who will understand their needs. And I pray for the poor people, that you would give them lots and lots of money. Amen."
Then Z prayed, "God, I love you. Thank you for G and for my mommy and for my daddy and for all my family. And thank you for you, God."
Standing by their bedside, all I could think was, Wow, I would have totally missed hearing these beautiful prayers from my beautiful children if today had gone as I'd planned.
As I gave goodnight hugs, G wrapped his arms around my neck and said, "Mommy, tonight was really fun! But," he added, snuggling down onto his pillow, "the day did have some dreary moments."
All I can say to that is: I love seven-year-old boys!
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