The original Mashed Monday is part of our weekly meal plan. Mashed Meatballs (ground beef gravy) topping mashed potatoes with a veggie and salad on the side. W named the meat portion Mashed Meatballs as that's what it reminds him of. Good thinking! Favorite Husband made it one evening that I was out and it was a true hit...so we now have "Mashed Monday" every Monday evening. Easy, comfort food and loved by all in this house.
Tonight was no different...except time wise.
The boys watched Toy Story 3 while I got the potatoes and vegetables on the go. The meat gravy was done as it had been placed in the crock pot earlier. After their movie, and much, much later than usual, we attempted to sit down to dinner. We were completely late tonight which is out of sinc for us, but it happens sometimes. Best laid plans.....right?
So, 7pm rolls around and we are beginning dinner. 7 pm dinner?! Aghast!
The boys adamantly refused to eat. Ws tummy hurts and Bup just said, "I no like dinner!" Rather than fight with them we advised there was nothing else to eat and they could look at a Christmas book on the couch while we ate. Yes, I took all their Christmas books out today.
A couple of books later and Bup is standing by my side while I read and eat at the same time. Talented, I know. Please, no applause.
W is on the floor looking through an I Spy Christmas book.
Suddenly for an unknown reason that neither I nor my Favorite Husband can recall, Bup is on the floor, face down, with his arms around his head, refusing to speak to either of us. He's mad! Then, to make matters worse, W goes under the table and dares to speak to Bup, who goes into full melt down!
Sobbing his little, fist sized heart out. LOUDLY. With great gusto.
Still face down.
B and I let him cry, do not try to rouse him as we know what kind of reaction this provokes.
W leaves the room as soon as the crying escalates as it hurts his ears. His bedroom door slams! Uh...foreshadowing for the teenage years? I think so!
Poor Bup continues to wail and if we speak to him. Look out!
W returns and finds it necessary to attempt a new Cirque de Solei move with his feet on the edge of the roll top desk and his palms on the island. Of course, it is not ideal for W to be practicing acrobatics in the kitchen during the meal time, so Daddy, with a fresh plate of "Mashed Meatballs" in his hand, hooks his arm around W's stomach to get him down.
As W kicks his foot up, it catches the bottom of FH's plate spilling the meal all down W's back!
AAAAAHHHHHH!!!! W screams and starts to cry.
Bup is still sobbing in very loud decibels on the floor.
Daddy is frustrated and trying hard not to swear, while he raises his voice a little to W.
I am sitting at the table. Coaxing W, who is now crying, to come to me; once B has his him stripped. Bup is still sobbing face down in a puddle of mucous and tears, and I am really, really trying not to laugh! And then I say to my sweet, frustrated husband,
"Isn't this a lovely family dinner?"
Come now, you have to laugh or one would just be angry and cry. At the same time, it bodes well as to why we put our kids to bed by 7pm 90% of the time, why we don't go out to dinner in the evenings, and why I like coconut rum!
Poor Bup though. It took almost an hour for him to calm down.
After about 25 min I had B physically carry him to his bed. Where he would at least be more comfortable. Even his beloved "kiki" and bottle would not settle him. He just threw them away.
By this time, his eyes were almost swollen shut. I was able to sit behind him with my legs wrapped around him and sing though. He continued to cry for another 30 minutes. I sang and sang his bedtime songs over and over again.
Finally, when he picked up his bottle and blanket I switched to Christmas carols followed by repeating softly, "You're so sad. I'm sorry you are sad" over and over again. Maybe it's the empathic statements? But that is when he quit. The poor little mite.
While he was drinking his bottle with his meds in the juice, the thoughts of me putting more poison into his system made me cringe. That one particular med is a big reason for this inconsolable sobbing and there I was giving him more. Ugh.
It also came to mind, that if he was an infant a parent or doctor would call him colicky. That's what it's like. Colic. True colic. The uncontrollable, inconsolable, unprovoked sobbing.
Heart wrenching to see my little son live this again and again and not be able to alleviate his pain and sadness.
I am only glad that we, B and me, are there for him when he is in that state. It's "other worldly" as B would say. That we stay calm and sympathetic. That we are the ones he sees when he can breathe again...peacefully.