shokufeh is…home

This morning, I threatened to throw MrMan’s shoes out the car window.

He’s always been a somewhat particular boy, not a big fan of “mess.” Unless the mess is the  chaos of the toys in  his room.  But get a little yogurt outside of the confines of his mouth, and all hell breaks loose.  Most of the time, it’s amusing, and we’ll refer to him as Adrian.  As in Monk.  Some of the time, it’s a bit annoying and inconvenient.  This morning, it was turning me into a wild thing, with my rolling my eyes and gnashing my teeth.

Maybe if it had been one article of clothing.  Or just a change, maybe two.  But it was:

• Change my navy shirt because it is slightly damp around the neckline from the washcloth used to wipe my face.
• Fix my argyle socks – they are not conforming to my  feet just so.
• Change my socks to the pumpkin socks, please.
• Oh, my shoes are not tied right!  Fix them!  Fix them!
• In going back to eat a little more breakfast, I have spilled yogurt on my red shirt.  Woe is me!  Change it!
• My shoes still are not tied right.
• My shoes still are not tied right, even though you took the shoes off, made sure there was nothing inside, and carefully tied them before we went into the classroom.
• Yes, I watched you carefully as you tied the shoes, but they are not tied.  Perhaps if you tuck in the offending ends of the shoelaces I will believe you that they are tied.
• Oh no!  The cuff of my striped shirt is damp from pushing it down on my freshly washed hand.  I will now melt.

I may make good on my threat to throw those shoes out of the car, on the way home.

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Between book group, LSA meetings, and Feasts, there are usually three to four nights a month that I go out.  (I do sometimes take MrMan with me to Feast, but it just depends on his mood, and my energy for wrangling.)  Sam is more of a homebody.  It’s a rare night he goes out without us.  But tonight was one of those rare nights.  It also happened to be a night for LSA.  The plan was for Sam to leave for his meeting, with MrMan and me walking over to my parents’ house for the LSA meeting not long after.  Then Sam would pick MrMan up from my parents’ house once his meeting was done.

That last part went really smoothly.  It was the first part that served to torture MrMan.  Before Sam even left the house, MrMan was asking about him.  When I said he was going out, he rushed to the window, fussing, but then noticed that the car was still there.  When he realized Sam was still in the house, he hurried to put on his flipflops, so we he wouldn’t be left behind.  Except that he was left behind.  Which resulted in much sobbing of, “I want my Daaadeeee.” Standing at the window, crying against the panes, wailing.  I confess, I played the part of the jilted parent, and didn’t offer much sympathy until at least five minutes into the sobfest.  He refused the snuggle, first agreed when I asked him if I was chopped liver, and finally demanded to call MaJan.  Once I dialed my mother and she answered, he sobbed into the phone about wanting his “Daaadeeee.” She offered herself instead, and asked if he wanted her to pick him up.  He readily agreed.  So, five minutes later, she showed up in her car, and whisked him away to Walgreens.

I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself and picked up my interrupted dinner and sat in front of the computer, watching a sitcom from last night.  Just the perfect amount of time left for me to walk over to my parents’ house for the meeting.

I waiver on whether I need to change my behavior so that my child will stop seeing an evening with me, and (perhaps more importantly) without fun daddy, as a torture session.  But, really?  I’ve never been that fun person.  Why change now?  I’m not sure I know how.  I’ll put the onus on him: he’ll grow out of it.

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This morning, lying in bed, I was thinking about how the past year has been – 34 wasn’t all that great.  My first day of 35?  Much better.  Not in a spectacular,  exciting fashion.  But a good day, nonetheless.  And while I’ll still probably get around to listing why 34 wasn’t my favorite year, and that might be considered dwelling on the unpleasant things of life, I decided to spend this year really focusing on the below prayer.  Good thing I’d decided that before stepping out into the world.  It’s already come in handy.

O God!  Refresh and gladden my spirit.  Purify my heart.  Illumine my powers.  I lay all my affairs in Thy hand.  Thou art my Guide and my Refuge.  I will no longer be sorrowful and grieved; I will be a happy and joyful being.  O God!  I will no longer be full of anxiety, nor will I let trouble harass me.  I will not dwell on the unpleasant things of life.

O God!  Thou art more friend to me than I am to myself.  I dedicate myself to Thee, O Lord.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

*A reference to her song, New Attitude

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