Mother's day started out pretty well. I didn't set any unrealistic expectations. I didn't ask for an elaborate brunch and I specifically requested that we NOT have breakfast in bed, which would have either meant eating alone, or ending up with spilled coffee and sharing all my food.
Jeff made a lovely breakfast for me, including eggs, bacon, and homemade hash browns. I drank my coffee. I opened a gift from Jeff (the new Pioneer Woman cookbook
- yay!), and some cute things the kids made at school. Later that afternoon, I got to spend some time alone at my favorite local coffee place.
Around, four o'clock, I decided to take a nap. I so rarely do, and it seemed like a good way to finish up the afternoon. About five minutes into it, I heard a loud crash near Moe's room. I did not jump up. I thought, "Jeff has got this." Maybe 30 seconds later, there was a second crash and the unmistakeable sound of something breaking. I jumped out of bed.
I opened the door to find Moe standing in front of the linen closet. On the floor, there were not one, but two, dish packs, the ones that I use to store my china. Moe had climbed the closet shelves, reached the dishes, and pulled them down. They are heavy, of course, and simply crashed to the ground when he grabbed them.
I opened the packs and saw that quite a bit was broken. My heart sank as I brought the two packs to the kitchen to survey the damage. He had pulled out a pack with soup bowls: every one was broken. Every. One. The other pack contained saucers. One saucer was intact, another had just one clean break and may be salvageable. Everything was completely shattered.
I was crushed. I didn't register for china when we got married; I asked my parents for these dishes. These dishes, that we used at every Passover seder, at every special occasion, just gone in an instant. These dishes, that I carefully packed and placed on a high shelf, that I specifically didn't put in storage when we put the house on the market so they would be safe, were now, at best, a future mosaic. Did I mention my parents carried these back from their honeymoon in the Virgin Islands?
Moe, by the way, was fine. The trip to the ER was unrelated, if you can believe it.
I sobbed on the kitchen floor. I'm fighting back tears as I write this. My parents assured me that these dishes are just things, that they are unimportant. And they are right, of course. But it doesn't change the fact that something really special to me is gone, and that Moe, as much as I love him, is impulsive and destructive, and only getting more so. No matter how closely I watch him, he is fast. I'm afraid he's going to really hurt himself.
Which brings me to the next part of our story. Moe was finally in bed, and Jeff and I went to check on him. He had a dirty diaper, as he often does about an hour after he gets into bed. We changed him, which is an emotionally exhausting two person job that requires a complicated dance of hand restraint and dodging kicking legs. While Jeff was finishing up, I was fixing Moe's bed (another story I'll have to share another day). Somehow, Moe launched himself off the top of his dresser, and in an instant was on the floor. He was quiet for a second, and limp (though not unconscious). He was moaning. I, having just read a story about a little girl who was knocked to the ground
, told Jeff, I'm calling 911.
Jeff insisted we wait a minute and see. Moe refused to walk. He had one eye closed, and was waving his arms around. He would not stand. Jeff brought him to the couch. He was crying and I thought his forehead was swelling. Jeff didn't want to spend the night at the ER, but I insisted he at least go to urgent care at our doctor's office. The wait time online said 30 minutes, so Jeff headed out. Unfortunately, they were closed when Jeff arrived. Oops.
He ended up taking Moe, who I could still hear moaning on the background, to the ER near the clinic. Moe was fine, and now I cannot even find a bump on his head. I think, in the end, he probably got the wind knocked out of him and got pretty scared but wasn't actually injured. I'm thankful, but once again come out like the over-protective mother. But with Moe, how can I tell?
Hope your mother's day was relaxing. Can I get a do-over?
Tray image courtesy of Pennello Lane.