I don't know.
Tomorrow, I am leaving for Louisville to visit my sister and her precious little ones. I'm excited. But I'm going by myself and that makes me feel anxious and sad. I won't be back home until Sunday. The good news is that my sister and I are going to get mani's and pedi's, I get to spend time with my sister since she's currently a SAHM, I bought wine, and I'm happy to help. so, it will be a very positive experience. I just wish I could put Anna and Noah in my pocket and pull them out and hug and kiss on them every once in awhile. (okay...all of the time.) Before I know it, Sunday will be here and I'll be back home. By then we should know whether or not we will be packing our house up and moving away or if we will be staying put. I just want to know. Don't you?
Something bad happened today. I was doing 52 things at once, as usual. Making the kids grilled cheese, putting away groceries, and I was just about to put sheets in the washer that I had just purchased for the air mattress I'll be sleeping on this weekend. I had just put the sandwiches on the griddle when Anna said "I'll help you." I replied with a "no, Anna, I'm just going to take a second to make sandwiches, the counter is full of groceries, I do not need help." She proceeded to run towards the bathroom where her step stool exists. I yelled from the laundry room "Anna keep the stool in the bathroom, I do not need help!!" I paused for a second and read something on the front page of the newspaper that was sitting on the dryer about one of my old volleyball coaches. It was then that I heard crying, which is not unusual (at all) in my house, so I didn't necessarily run out of the room, but I did immediately head out. I thought it was Anna crying and she was crying hard. I walked into the kitchen and it was Noah. He was crying so hard and sort of bending over while holding his hands. It was then I noticed the fucking step stool in front of the fucking stove. The stove holding the fucking griddle. cooking. hot. Noah touched the griddle. I wanted to die. I knew how bad it hurt, burns suck and they hurt and they hurt and they fucking hurt. I just wanted to put ice on his hand but I couldn't quite tell where the burn was, so I just put ice everywhere, he hated it. He just wanted me to pick him up and hug him and that's what I wanted to do, too, but I knew he need cold on that burn. (I did hug him and hold him...he holds on so tight and cries so hard.) He finally let me hold his hand under cold water. I made a bowl of ice water and he played with it for about five minutes. It was then that the hunger hit him. I fed them lunch and he did fine, but after that everytime he put his hand on something he cried. He cried big fat tears and told me it hurt. I don't think I have ever felt so helpless as a mom. (yes I have) It was hard. I gave him tylenol. He's better, I think, but it was just so so sad.
And to think it would never have happened if Anna knew how to listen. It is now my mission to teach her. (I say, while attaching a cape to my neck and stretching my arms out in front of me, waiting to fly)