The latest mommy meltdown occurred last night after the newest addition to our home showed up. No, it's not a living thing like a cat or a dog, but a brown leather recliner that I had ordered weeks ago. The night before the chair's delivery my husband kept remarking about how happy I was. "If I'd have known all it took was new furniture..." he joked a few times, noting my excitement. I wasn't home when it arrived so I had my husband text me a picture, just so I knew it was really real. And there it was, in all its sweet La-Z-Boy reclining beauty.
|Who needs pants on when I have this sweet recliner?|
My son was the first to sit in it, a fact that my daughter decried after dinner last night when we all went into the family room and my son plopped down in the center of all that luscious new leather. She hadn't sat in it yet - and it was her turn, she said. But he had gotten there first, he said. For those of you who don't have children, now would be a good time to reach back into the recesses of your memory and remember what "taking turns" and "being first" meant as a kid. They were a big deal, whether we're talking about playing a game, or riding on a new toy, or getting on an amusement park ride - throwing around the terms "taking turns" and "being first" in kid parlance can be pretty serious stuff. In fact, them's fightin' words. And that's just what happened. The two of them barked at each other back and forth over whose rear should be nestled on the new chair, and I was where I always was in these situations: right smack in the middle trying to get it to stop. And trying. And trying. And then yelling. And then it stopped.
It was exhausting.
And one thing is certain. It will happen again. And probably again after that. And after that, too. And just as certainly, they'll also keep playing soccer and hockey together, and baking cupcakes and cookies, too. I guess it's all a part of growing up for them, and growing old for me. I'd like to think all the refereeing I do is preparing me for something - maybe a new job or new responsibilities. Sainthood, maybe? But really, I've got to find some lesson in it to make it all feel worthwhile.
Like maybe the next time I order new furniture I should prepare a schedule of who sits in it when.