I watch as Elias pulls the chair that Olive stands on, knowing I'm helpless to prevent the fall. She lands on her back, her head hits the linoleum floor, and we all stop breathing until she screams.
Nick grabs Elias who grunts in protest when his father forces him to the bench for a time out. I scoop up Olive who sobs in my arms and all I want to do is rewind time so I'm close enough to catch her. Or to grab a hold of Elias before he pulls the chair. I want to erase this moment and return to the second before when Nick said, "Dinner's ready."
Everything changes in an instant.
Minutes earlier, Olive screamed, "No potty!" Throwing her body onto the floor, crocodile tears. Even though moments before she crossed her legs and grabbed her coochie.
"You look like you need to go potty," I said to my 28-month-old underwearing monster.
"No, no, no!" She hit at my back as I carried her to the toilet, my post-work patience dwindling. Within seconds she tinkled and smiled.
"You need to wipe."
She pulled the toilet paper down to her hiney and then ran out of the bathroom before it broke off, pulling the paper with her, leaving Elias and I laughing in her wake.
Elias seemed like the easy one.
"Dinner's ready," Nick said.
Olive pushed a chair over to the silverwear drawer to help herself to untensils.
"Poon Yias, poon." I smiled as she handed him a sliver spoon; and then before I could react, he pulled the chair out from under her.
And I think this is life.
Life with children.
Just when you think its one its the other. And just when you think its safe to blink, you find yourself holding a sobbing mess to your chest, wondering how you will all survive.
Just when you want to scream with frustration at your child, the universe shifts and you can't kiss them in enough places. Your love makes you gasp.
And you feel splayed, utterly divided, when one of your children hurts the other.
I know Elias didnt intend for Olive to fall and hurt her head.
And I tell him this later, when my pulse returns to normal. By the way he hangs his head, rubbing his eyes, and looking down at his lap, I know he feels an ounce of remorse. Even if he needs to be prompted to say, "I'm sorry Olive."
"Yias, chair, head," Olive repeats.
"I know, Babe."
I don't know if Elias will ever say, "I'm sorry" without prompting. I don't know if he'll ever fully understand the consequences of his actions. I could fill the Grand Canyon with all my I don't know's.
I do know Olive is one tough little girl who loves her brother. And maybe this will carry us through.
Maybe this unshakeable, unspeakable, contagious love, will catch us all from falling too hard.
Beautifully written as usual. Hang in there.
Posted by: Mom | 04/17/2012 at 03:56 AM
Love is always the anchor. When the days feel unceasingly difficult and you want to run away, remember the moments of intense love which take your breath away or make your throat tight with unshed tears because the love is SO intense. THAT will carry you through. I promise.
Posted by: Niksmom | 04/17/2012 at 04:31 AM
Tonight Elias hit his sister and when he was in his room for a time-out she cried his name at his closed door, sad that she couldn't see him. Yes, love will carry us all through:)
Posted by: Christy | 04/17/2012 at 08:20 PM