Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Close Your Eyes

Last Monday was THE Monday after Spring Break. Back to routine. Our daycare provider picked up Daisy to take her to school – an awesome free service resulting from using the same daycare for six years – and my husband left for work. Violet and I were running late for speech therapy when she said, “Me no want to go peech.” Hmm . . . me no want to go either. She did have a cough . . . I cleared our schedule. It was stormy, so we also skipped an over-the-hill trip to the grandparents. The loud guys weren’t even here. I love a day at home in the rain. No commitments. No visitors. Heaven.

We returned from our family-spring-break-trip-extravaganza on Friday evening, when we jumped into a fairly typical weekend. Within an hour of getting home, my husband left for a barbecue with the kids and I retreated to taxes . . . and blogs . . . and sort of drooling while staring at nothing in particular. I taught on Saturday then came home to get Daisy for a birthday party at a roller rink. She was sore and tired from her first skiing experience, which made me laugh when I strapped on her skates. It was the third time she's "skated" and she leaned feebly to the side, inching along, falling every few minutes. When we got home, my sister- and brother-in law had already arrived. We had a lot of fun, but I didn’t unpack. Sunday, my family hacked trails through the piles of dirty laundry, Easter aftermath and construction chaos. Obligations kept me from doing more housework.

So Monday was an excellent choice for a day of no obligations. Violet played while I put things away and put things away and put things away. Then I put things away and put things away. Even now, the motherlode of dirty laundry is waiting, but at least I can function again. A suggestion of order has emerged.

So Tuesday morning felt like Monday to young Violet and I. On the way to preschool, I had that tired, cobwebs-in-the-brain feeling of coming back to reality and wished it wasn’t my scheduled preschool shift. Violet announced, “I’m ti-ud.” I distractedly said something like OK. She replied,“No, you apposed to ay . . . cwose yo eyes.” Oh, I forgot . . . close your eyes. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of the peaceful satisfaction that came over her face as she closed her eyes.

I’m not sure when that became our routine in the car. One time she had a fit, which involved yelling “I’m ti-ud” nine million times until I finally exclaimed, “THEN CLOSE YOUR EYES!” It worked. She closed her eyes and went silent. It’s amazing when something works on a kid spinning out of control.

I wish I could be transported to a worry-free place of beauty with such simple advice. Seeing it happen is soothing. But it also makes me feel like that fake wizard of Oz, the one who was just a flawed person behind the curtain . . . do I really have the right credentials to offer that peace of mind? For my daughters’ sake, I’m going to say yes.



  1. That's cute.

    Holden always corrects me if I don't say exactly what he wants to hear. "You have to say 'Good job'" after he goes to the bathroom is one. lol

  2. That's funny :) Violet does the exact same thing when she goes to the bathroom . . . I'm hoping to transition out of bathroom support soon but she likes a team effort in there with lots of positive feedback.