This weekend was pretty sucky as far as motherhood was concerned…think lots of tears from the baby and lots of tears and arguments from the older one. And of course little sleep.
So it was with weariness (and fear) that I awoke on Monday morning, sandwiched between my better half and our oldest who had woken up at 2am, crying about going to ‘Old McDonald’. As I lay there, I prayed, possibly a little skeptically, for patience and the ability to survive the day.
Things didn’t look good. The second I picked up the baby he started crying, and G woke only to announce that his belly hurt, and insisted I take him to the doctor. So much for my skeptical prayers.
In an effort to spark some enthusiasm within my big boy, I suggested a walk to the park. Just the two of us. Complete with snacks (bottled water and apples).
So off we went. At the park, he steered us over to the bench, where we sat down like grownups, munching on our slices of Braeburn. [I had flashbacks of a moment, nearly two years before, when G was climbing the very same bench – angelic with blonde ringlets, milky skin and a turquoise onesie. Before he knew how to argue…] We sat silently in the breeze. ‘It’s a windy day,’ he remarked, and I could feel the tension of the morning fading away.
After our snack, we walked over to the rocks and looked around for a bit. ‘Look mommy,’ he said. ‘I picked this flower for you,’ as he handed me the wispy remains of a dandelion.
I was so touched by this voluntary act that I insisted we go home so I could photograph the precious flower. That he stopped along the way and picked one up for his dad and baby brother (and himself!) was just icing on the cake.