It’s been a rough week on top of last week’s rough week.
He’s constant. Constantly loud. Constantly rough. Constantly in my face and in my space.
He’s busy and good natured. He’s so busy and so full of his own plans and his own things to say (loudly) (while harming things and/or people with large, expansive gestures) (holding a badminton raquet) that we’ve lost the ability to obey. Ever.
I can not ever say something and have him actually listen to it. He’s too busy being rough, being loud, being constant.
It takes it’s toll.
When I can find a small moment of sanity to just sit and observe him in a detached manner, it’s very sweet and funny. But that is just a moment. We are dealing with a timeline here. A timeline characterized by an unrelenting barrage.
I’ve renamed him Buzz. As in, Buzz Lightyear. As in, “to insanity, and beyond!”
It hasn’t been pretty. When I’m tempted to take a picture of myself with a big L on my forehead (as in, loser) and text it to my husband, it’s a pretty big clue that I’m floundering.
A psalm came to mind this week.
Where can I go from your chatter?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go upstairs, you are there.
If I crawl into bed and close my eyes, you are there.
If I wake up early to gather myself together before you awake, you are there.
If I hide out in the bathroom, you are there,
Even there your hand will knock,
Your voice will holler through the locked door.
Love you, small son. Here’s to a better week next week. <raises canning jar of homemade almond milk, current comfort>