It's 6:15pm on Tuesday. It's Pilates time. Tuesdays mean that I have to race out of work to daycare, convince my son to put on his coat, race out the door, pick up the sitter, race home, change clothes, hug the boy and drive to Pilates class. Then for the next 60 minutes, I focus on my core, form and the directions of my Pilates instructor. It's the only thing I do just for me. Tonight though was different. I wanted to turn myself into liquid, seep into the yoga mat and not go home.
Let me go back. 5:20pm, I was driving my car towards daycare. I peer reviewed 15 courses in one 8 hour day. My eyes were glued to my monitor and my back formed a small C by 5pm. I was frustrated, tired and mad that I was once again leaving work late on my Pilates night. Traffic seemed heavier than normal so I was testy.
I arrived at daycare, last parent to arrive. Three kids in the room with two mommies present. My son was relieved that I was finally there. He immediately runs to the pretend kitchen to make me soup for dinner. I am signing him out and trying to figure out the quickest way to get him out of the room. Suddenly he takes off and starts hitting his friends in the room like an episode of the Three Stooges. Now instead of putting on his coat, I am trying to get him to say he is sorry to his friends. It's not happening. Instead, he turns his rage to me. Arms are swinging. I am getting punched, hard, in the face. I am overwhelmed. My only response was to pull his arms down, wrap my arms around this arms, face him away from me and run. It worked. We are in the car.
Our family has the rage. I am worked up thanks to peer review, too many things to accomplish in one day at work and assorted other private things. My son has parted ways with his beloved passy, growing two-year molars, loaded to the brim with mucus and pushing himself to great bounds of tired whenever possible. As I laid there on my yoga mat this evening considering the idea of not going home, I thought about our rage. It's OK. It sucks, but it's OK.
I did come home. My son still has to make peace in a world without his passy. Tonight, I put my son to bed early to help him get more rest. I actually have the TV to myself right now. I got to eat my dinner from beginning to end without his assistance. Tomorrow, we will try again. I have some ideas and strategies to try when his fists start to fly. We are going to help each other through this rage phase. That's what families do.