It's 5:20am. A piercing wail comes from down the hall.
MOMMY! I scared!
I stumble out of bed, no contacts in. I arrive at Smith's door only to find him laying face down on the floor screaming about monsters in his room.
It's an hour before his green light goes on and signals to him that he's allowed to get up.
I scoop him up off the floor, being sure to pick up his bear and monster truck laying beside him. We make our way back into our bedroom and I lay him down in the middle of the bed. Tucking him in again and reminding him that it's still night night time and he needs to close his eyes.
Twenty minutes goes by with no less than 15 kicks to the kidney, one knee to the vagina and two monster trucks to the eyeball.
Tossing and turning until a soft green light illuminates the far corner of the bedroom and Smith takes notice. Mommy, it's time to get up! Right kid. As if I have been able to sleep with an elbow in my esophagus.
I shower. Smith whines. I get my makeup on. He wines some more. Kent offers to take him downstairs, but I rush through my eyeshadow routine and insist Kent moves on about his morning.
Hair still in a towel, I go downstairs to let Captain Demando play with his toys. Except this morning, his idea of being a well behaved toddler includes throwing trucks and fire engines at the wall. After several redirections on my part and very skilled ignoring capabilities on his, time out is clearly in order.
Scooping him up to relocate him to the time out wall, I walk hastily toward the kitchen. Because obviously me stomping and walking faster than a rhinoceros with diarrhea will clearly make Smith realize how much of a douche he is and that mommy means business.
My left foot goes up, my right foot goes forward, my back falls to the ground with Smith, in my left arm, along for the ride. We hit the tile floor with such force that I am sure that my elbow has shattered. Smith is screaming. I am crying from the pain. We are soaking wet.
Somehow I manage to pick him up and try to soothe him, while attempting to ignore the pain in my arm. We sit in a puddle of water and cry together for a moment.
He finally composes himself enough for me to look up and see what happened.
The refrigerator is leaking. A 1/2 inch of water in some places. I open the freezer and everything is as warm. Meat is room temperature. Frozen vegetables soft. All of the food is ruined.
I manage to get back upstairs and interrupt Kent's shower, asking him to come down as soon as he can. He arrives to a broken mom and a broken baby. Tears in both of our eyes.
We pull ourselves together enough to clean up the water and leave towels bunched up at the base of the refrigerator to stop any more water from flowing.
The next twenty minutes is a blur. Trying to get dressed and out the door. The whines are reaching epic proportions on account of the stress and anxiety of the morning. Kent offers to take Smith to breakfast so I can have a breather. A quick kiss goodbye and they are gone.
I find my best new outfit. Bound and determined to at least feel good amongst the insanity in my head. I walk into the garage to leave.
A box of Kent's collapsed under the pressure of the tote above and hundreds of cards are spilled onto the garage floor.
Tears come to my eyes again. The warmth of pain eases back into my chest and I lose myself.
What else today. What else.