Cascading Milk and a Lacrosse Stick

#6 had a big disappointment this morning.  He was told something he didn't want to hear from someone outside our family.  He didn't quite know how to handle that one.  What I've learned from past experience with him (see this post) is that I have to stand back and let him process it in his own way, which is usually unpleasant, but if I say anything or try to help, it becomes even more unpleasant.

I couldn't help it this morning.  He shut down, and we had to get going, so I had to say something.  I did, and the rest of the morning, so far has been, we'll just say, less than pleasant.

If only I'd just kept my mouth shut in the first place.  My brain said to just keep quiet, but I couldn't.  The other choice was to leave him behind, and I couldn't do that.  It was a real catch 22.  Actually, now that I think about it, the whole morning has been a catch 22.  I feel like I was set up.  Can we just start all over?  I'd like to climb back into my nice, warm bed.

So, here's how things went down....

We're walking to school.  He's mad, so he runs ahead.  He crosses the street without anyone with him.  I tell him that that's dangerous, and if he can't get it together soon, it'll be his last time walking to school with us (he only gets to do this on Wednesday's when he has no school).  That's totally an option because the two middle school-age kids are home.  It's their time to practice their instruments.  The only reason why #6 likes to walk with us is because our neighbor boy walks with us, and he thinks he's pretty great.

Well, instead of pulling himself together, he gets angrier.  This is our ongoing problem with him.  He does the opposite of the best reaction and makes the situation worse.  He continues to run.

Thankfully, a neighbor who happens to be driving her son to school today pulls over and offers the two boys a ride to school, so I'm left with #6 and #7 to walk home with. I try to get #6 to talk to me.  What am I thinking?!  Again, he gets angrier.

We walk in the door, and I know I don't want this child in the house; he needs some cooling down time, so I ask him to go out back and cool down.  He starts running upstairs.  I catch him and walk him out the back door.  As we head to the door, he grabs his brother's backpack, which is laying the stairs, and hucks it at the kitchen table where someone's cereal--half-eaten--is sitting, waiting to be taken to the sink.  I get him outside and go back to straighten up some of the mess.  As I pick up the backpack, the bowl of cereal continues to fall all over my pant leg and shoe.  It was all a blur, but I believe there was a glass of milk that joined the waterfall that cascaded from the table to the chairs to the floor.

I go upstairs, shed my milky pants and throw them into the laundry room.  In my bedroom, I already know there aren't any more pants to be changed into--darn minimalisim (what was I thinking?!)  Of course I am unsuccessful.  Most of my things are still out in the garage in the crates from that darned experiment.

I come downstairs again to find that while I was upstairs searching, #7 decided to pour some more milk onto her tiny bowl of cereal.  Milk, which I might add, was left at the table by children who are already off at school.  I find her standing on her chair filling her bowl to overflowing and emptying the rest of the gallon milk.  I grab the jug with about 1/4 inch of milk still in it and run it to the sink and start hollering upstairs for towels.

As I appear, #6 is outside tapping lightly on the back door with a lacrosse stick--thank goodness for the VERY expensive sliding door we bought.  I wonder how much more of this it will take.  So thankful it was just a tapping, but there was definitely a threat of it becoming more.  I knew I couldn't even look at him, or it would quickly become banging.

I'd like to add here, that I had absolutely NOTHING to do with the reasons that led to all of this.  Why am I the target?!  Let me off the bus!!!

I go running to the garage to find some pants and can't dig through the crates fast enough.  I'm fearful of what other chaos might be growing in the house.  The garage is cold and dark, but oh so quiet--tempting.  Maybe I could just hang out here for awhile and let whatever else is going to happen happen.  I could go back in when things are quiet, but no, I know I've got to face what lies ahead.

I reenter, carrying crates into the house--the pants were in the bottom crate, of course.  Towels have been strategically placed on the puddles of milk on the floor and table.  #7 continues to stand at the table now crying because milk is flowing onto her shoes and socks.  She's trying to figure out how to get the bowl to the sink and ends up with milk on her pants and sleeves as well.  All while #6 is beating on the door.

Okay, so what do you deal with first and do you not lose it?

After I locate pants, I head upstairs to put them on.  At some point while I was dressing, #6 came back in by himself--I guess he felt he had it together.  Without a word being said, he had started cleaning up the milk and cereal that was all over the floor and table.  I find him quietly sopping up puddles of milk with large towels.  He looks up and quietly says, "Sorry, Mom."

Peace is starting to be restored.  Did we all survive?  Barely.  I feel like I've had my workout for the day, and it all started with one disappointment to a very small boy.

At this point, I have two errands that NEED to be run, and I am the carpool queen today, so we have to leave the house.

Get the errands run, get the kids to school, and get the little kids to their playdate (THANK GOODNESS!  Thank you, Christy!).  I walk in the door and reality hits me.  The house is a complete WRECK, and I have three hours to study, so here I sit whining and blogging.  I have to get a grip on it before I can go deal with it.  Why is it that cleaning from a tsunami is easier than cleaning my own home after an experience like this morning's?

Well, I'm off.  Thank you for letting me vent and whine.  Off to face the aftermath.


I just went downstairs, and I'm not kidding...

one of my mom's chocolate chip cookies sits on the counter waiting for me,
and this song comes on the playlist:

I think I'll eat a cookie and have a good cry before I try to conquer the world.