WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
As soon as I said it was time to leave the playground, my youngest started to scream. Not whine or yell or pout. Scream. The same way that heroines in horror movies scream just before they are bludgeoned to death. Then she slumped to the ground as if her knees were jello, and began to sob, You are ruining my day!
On that day we had lived in Beirut for six weeks. From our apartment, it is an easy walk to the American University in Beirut, home to, among many other things, one of the largest and best-maintained playgrounds in the city. An afternoon there and you are meeting professors, news correspondents, diplomats, and expats from around the world. People you would generally like to impress with your parenting skills, your husband being paid to educate many of their children and all.
So I moseyed over to her and we talked calmly about things like dinner to be made and homework to be done, and returning another day. Slowly, her knees regained their cartilage and she stood, still crying, and started to follow me home.
When we opened the door, the white apartment walls reflected the grey tinge of the fading light of day. My oldest, who at age 12 no longer does playgrounds, marched upstairs to ask me where the clean laundry was, as she wanted to pack for her school overnight trip. I considered replying that I had put it under the dining room table or behind the refrigerator again, as I feel like I am constantly answering questions about the whereabouts of items with logical locations. Bananas in the fruit bowl for example. But I figured that would be snarky and unhelpful so I answered instead that the clean laundry was in…wait for it…the laundry room.
My oldest padded off to find her laundered array of Old Navy t-shirts and I told my other two that they needed to do homework while I started dinner. My middlest dutifully retired to the living room to solve math equations, but this request sent my youngest into another bout of tears and ranting about ruining her day. The front door opened and my husband appeared, a bag of work in each hand. Just behind his hazel brown eyes, I could see the water level of the new job had risen to about overflow. I sent him downstairs to change his clothes.
This momentary distraction created a pause in her rant, so I asked my youngest to sit with me in the kitchen. She parked herself on the kitchen stool, her blankie in her face, and her sobs started to turn into hiccups. Next on the list was food. Tonight was supposed to be breakfast for dinner, a real crowd-pleaser. Eggs, waffles, and I had all the ingredients for gallo pinto (the Costa Rican term for rice and beans), to quell the Costa Rica homesickness. All I needed to do was chop the onions, peppers and garlic for the gallo pinto, which I managed quickly and got them into a pot on the stove.
I rinsed my hands and grabbed a box of tissues from the next room for the youngest. My middlest, who was still supposed to be doing her homework, rode by on her scooter. I didn’t even realize she had unpacked her scooter.
When I asked her what she was doing I got her exasperated tone coupled with Just checking on my sister! I thanked her for the concern, and then redirected her off the scooter and back to her homework. My youngest had at this point calmed down enough that I thought I could turn the tide. I offered her a glass of water in a special fancy crystal glass, and finally I got just a hint of a smile. Along with a whiff of smoke.
Crap, the onions.
To the pot for a stir. Then to the cupboard for the special glass, and to the water cooler to fill it. My youngest went off to find her homework. I sashayed to the refrigerator for eggs and waffle batter, then to the cupboard for the waffle iron. Then I remembered that I needed a converter for said waffle iron to work with the local voltage. I went to the everything drawer where we kept the collection of converters that the school gave us when we arrived. I shuffled through school ID badges, pens with feather tops, small pads of paper and several orphaned Lego figures. No converters. Then I smelled them again.
Crap! The onions!
Back again to the stove for a stir. My youngest resumed her perch on the kitchen stool and opened her reading book. I started down the hall to search the various outlets for an abandoned converter when I heard the crash of the special fancy crystal glass of water sliding off the counter and smashing to smithereens on the concrete kitchen floor. I arrived in the doorway as my youngest again dissolved into tears, put her head down on the counter, and yelled This is the worst day ever! I was starting to agree with her.
My middlest rode by on her scooter to see what as going on. She stopped and rang the bell on the scooter to get my attention. She looked at me with a mixture of concern and what the hell are you going to do now?
I told her to go back to her homework and I told my youngest first not to move as she was not wearing shoes and second not to worry it was just a glass and then I went on a hunt for the broom and dustpan. I found the broom in the closet and started to sweep up the water and the glass. Then I smelled the damn onions yet again and, finally, had the good sense to turn off the stove. My youngest continued to cry as I coerced the glass into a pile. I realized I didn’t see the dustpan in the closet and went back to look for it. I looked in all of the closets and cupboards in the laundry room and then in the kitchen and no dustpan. I paused to consider what else I could use when my oldest returned in her bare feet in search of more clothes for her overnight trip.
Sweetie, you can’t come in here with bare feet.
Why? she asked, completely baffled.
How does she not see what I am doing? Because your sister just broke one of the crystal glasses. This comment sent my somewhat calmer youngest into another fit of wailing.
Mom, I told you, I need to pack! We leave tomorrow!
I know that! But you need to wait! There are shards of glass everywhere and if you walk in here now you could cut yourself and then not be able to go on your trip.
My oldest let out a huff that was part sigh, part exasperated groan, before stomping back downstairs to her room. My middlest rode around again on the scooter, just to see how things were going.
Have you finished your reading yet?
No, but I am hungry.
I know, I am working on it.
It was at this point that I wondered where the hell my husband was. Dinner was now a good hour later than usual, there was lots of yelling, crying, glass breaking. This would have been a good time for SuperDad to swoop in and offer to take everyone out for donuts.
Right, back to the task at hand. I was still standing over a wet pile of glass, without a vacuum or a dustpan. I found the vacuum, which did little to pick up the wet glass. So, I started looking for the dustpan in the un-obvious places, and finally found it outside on the deck stuck purposefully and snugly behind the gas grill. Seriously? I returned to the kitchen and swept up the glass and water into the dustpan. A few more sweeps and I thought I had done enough to switch on the vacuum. Just as I did, my oldest slid back into the kitchen doorway.
Aren’t you done yet? she asked accusingly.
Would you like do it? I matched her sarcastic tone.
No, I have to pack
I turned on the vacuum as I said, Well, if you help me, I promise your packing will get done sooner.
An eye roll and another deep sigh and she again left me to my vacuuming and my sniffling seven year old, who had again recovered enough to start reading her book.
Finally satisfied that it was safe for my youngest to walk across the kitchen floor barefoot, I returned the vacuum to its closet and replaced the dustpan next to the broom, at attention for the next mess, which I was increasingly certain would happen within moments. I returned to the stove and considered the burned onions in the small moment of quiet.
My husband arrived in the door way with bed head and that fuzzy look he gets in his eyes when he has been dead asleep and awoken suddenly, usually by one of his children making a loud noise.
Hi. What time is it? When’s dinner?
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Have you ever had an afternoon like this? What did you do? Or, what do you wish you had done? I welcome your comments and stories here or find me on Facebook. I will share the end of the story and what I did in two weeks!