Attitude is Everything

It started out as one of those days.  You know the kind.  You get to bed late, you're exhausted, you're in the middle of a deep, delicious dream, and you are awakened far too early by your son crying out in terror.  At least that's how it was for me this morning. 

My poor kids have been fighting off a stubborn cold for a week now, and they're both wiped out from the hectic schedule we've been keeping as Mama tries to figure out how to simultaneously pay the bills, improve her mental health, protect the kids' mental health, spend time with her extended family, and manage her own housework. 

The result is there have been too many days in a row of eating junk food on the way to or from one event or another, too many hours with an aunt or a grandmother, and far too few hours hanging at home with a calm, relaxed, fun mom. 

So when I go in to my son and all he wants is to lay his head in my lap saying stuffily, "I can't breathe, Mommy," my heart crumbles.  All I want is to give him a nice, leisurely day at home, but I know that isn't possible.  We had miles to go before we would get to sleep again. 

Our first appointment of the day is with our wonderful optometrist, Dr. Waterman.  My son's new glasses had arrived (to replace his old ones which are held together with Epoxy after having both arms ripped off and the frame broken while "boxing" with our neighbor) and it is time to fit them.  Dr. Waterman is his congenial self.  My children are delighted with his antics.  I am grumpy from too little sleep and too much to do. 

After the visit, the kids are hungry, and I want caffeine, so we stop at Starbucks for a venti mocha latte, a cheese danish (why can't I lose weight???), and a banana nut bread (for the kids). 

It's decision time.  Which of my tasks do we do before heading to my mother's house?  Groceries?  That seems silly.  I had come north to the optometrist.  If I go shopping, I'd head back south to put them away only to turn right around and head north past the optometrist to my parents'. 

Too much gas. 

Too much backtracking.  (I don't like backtracking.  Ever.  For anything.) 

I decide to drive around central Rhode Island leaving Scavenger Hunt brochures at libraries that I hadn't reached earlier in the week.  Then I had been alone.  Now I have two kids with me, and we'll be exceeding my personal 3-stop limit. 

Deep breath. 

Inspiration strikes.  In my best "Boy, kids, have I got something fun and exciting for you!" voice I say, "Guess what? We're going on a library scavenger hunt!"

My kids have no idea what a scavenger hunt is.  They are very fond of our library, however, and even fonder of meeting new people, so this sounds good to them.  I pour over my map (yes, the paper kind . . . I don't want to waste my precious data allotment on automated directions!), decide where we're going, and head out. 

Along the way I tell the kids, neither of whom can read yet, what streets we're looking for, what direction we'll be going, and all sorts of intriguing navigational information.  After successfully finding the first stop, my kids decide they need brochures.  The brochures open up and contain, of all things, a map! 

Then my four-year old son starts back seat driving.  Literally.  "Mom," he tells me pointing at his map, "here's where we need to go.  Ten.  Right here.  There's a church on the corner." 

For those of you who don't know Rhode Island, we certainly do have a Route 10.  It does indeed feature prominently on the RI Farm Scavenger Hunt map.  It is, however, nowhere near the junction of Route 2 and Cowesett Avenue, which we are in search of. 

Just then, however, I see Cowesett Avenue.  As we're on top of it.  We pass it.  I say, "Oh, dear!  We passed Cowesett.  No problem, we'll turn around."  I not only sound cheerful; I feel cheerful. 

Now from the back I hear hysterical laughter and, "Mom, good thing you didn't lose Cowesett!"  I have no idea why the thought of losing Cowesett is so funny, but suddenly all three of us are giggling like goons and yelling about Cowesett being lost. 

By the time our jaunt is over, we have stopped at four different libraries.  Counting the optometrist, that was five in the car, out of the cars . . . unprecedented for me.  I am happy.  The kids are happy.  It was one of the best times we've had in a while. 

There are many times in my life when I feel like the dog being wagged by the tail of my emotions, as if I'm being driven by things I should have control over but don't.  Today was almost such a day.  It all changed with one moment of determination . . . and a bit of pretense. 

That and two lovely children who were just as in need of a good day as their mom . . . and whose exuberance transformed pretense into reality.