I'm sorry about Tuesday

Dear Henry,

I love you. I hope you know I do. I don't ever mean to torture you, but I know it often seems that way. Let me tell you how I understand.

I'm sorry I had to strap you into your car seat this morning, before you had a proper breakfast -- or a fresh diaper for that matter -- so we could get your sister to kindergarten on time.

I know it must have been frustrating to get back home, fill your belly, get dressed for the day and then start in on some good exploration of the items in our first-aid kit, only to be steered away from the medicine cabinet and back to your toys.

I understand I ruined your fun. I'm sorry.

Soon after that, I had the audacity to pack you a lunch, squeeze your resisting limbs through your seat belts and tote you along to Calvin's tumble class. You had to eat lunch in your stroller and I wouldn't let you crawl into the parking lot over, and over, and over again.

You were mad about that. I understand.

Later, I had to scoop you out of your bed and your deep afternoon slumber to force you into that car seat again, this time to retrieve Lili from school. It was inhumane. You didn't complain, though I know you didn't like it.

Then after, a quick snack back at home, it was back into the car again for round two at tumble class--this time for sissy. You had to wait around again.

So we went to the library to pass the time, and I'm truly sorry for what happened there.

We drove in circles to find a parking spot, and by the time we got inside and started crawling around, pulling out books, putting them back and so on, it was time to collect our things and go.

You weren't ready. You protested. You flopped onto the floor and wailed. I know that feeling. I felt the same way. I'm sorry.

The day's end found us back at home with just a few hours left until bedtime, and I had to make dinner.

You wanted to snuggle. You wanted to see what was sizzling on the stove top. You wanted to open all of the cupboards, schlep out all of the plastic tubs, baking pans and utensils you could find, then crawl away from the mess, complaining about how there was nothing fun to do.

You were hungry. You felt neglected. I understand.

I'm sorry you're at the mercy of a big family's schedule.

I'm sorry you don't have the communication skills to make us understand just exactly what you need all of the time.

I'm sorry we don't always take the time to listen.

Mostly, I'm sorry for Tuesday. It's a train wreck of a day, but I don't see any other way around it. The big kids love to tumble. Lili has to get to and from school. I have to drive the taxi. You have to come along.

Wednesday will be better, baby. I promise.

Love,

Mama