Having nearly survived NYC’s brutal winter without abusing my children, I, like most mothers, deserve a medal.
Having a two and three year old in the cold city while the apartment is under construction feels like one of the bigger accomplishments of the year, now if only I could dedicate this much effort to editing the novel…
Today nearly a dozen workers swarmed in my apartment to install new radiators and adjust radiator covers. While attending to them and taking away rolls of tape from the kids, answering the phone, picking up thrown shoes and serving coffee, I managed to get out the door. We proudly walked to the subway, then rode the ferris wheel at Toys R Us in Times Square while my son tried to climb out of the car, then went to the kids’ first movie screening while said son climbed up and down the stairs and ate stray popcorn off the floor.
It was gross but I did not know how to stop him. Even if I picked him up and let him scream he would wiggle out of my arms. I did not want to bring him out of the theater and leave my daughter and her friend (who is so over-protective I fear she will soon require additional adult supervision for the kids’ playdates). So I tried to push the popcorn away from him and call it yucky, This did not prevent a 50 minute post movie meltdown that had me at several points asking strangers for a few kernels of their freshly popped corn to avoid buying a bag on the way OUT of the matinee.
For this, and for tantrum my son threw on the street while I held his sleeping sister, complete with shoes thrown off, ended by the doorman helping me carry my son to the door, I deserve a medal. Or at least a massage. Or some sexy lingerie. Instead, I get an hour and a half of near peace while they sleep and the workers hammer and drill and pain.