At least, in my head that is how it looks and sounds.
In reality the baton went flying out of my hand and over my head taking out a clarinetist in the process when I tried to signal for the percussion to back off a bit because it came in too strong yet again - my flutes are flat, my horns can't find the right sheet music and the ribbon on my bows just all busted in my string section.
What remains is the screeching, dissonant sound that I'm almost certain rabbits make when they're being attacked.
Thats been my last couple of weeks.
Instead of sweet, beautiful music - I've got dead rabbits.
Screeching, dead, rabbits.
In my head.
I usually do a really good job of blending all the elements of my life, but the past couple of weeks everything just seems to be - well - falling flat I guess. I've spent majority of the past two weeks not sleeping. I've been surviving on catnaps and copious amounts of caffeine. My schedule has been all over the place this month with parent education workshops, school visits and meetings. Shaun's worked a couple nights of overtime and in between all of us have been sick on some varying level for the past three weeks. Did I also mention we're in the process of looking for a house and trying to survive a teething toddler?
I spent last night with a sick 17 month old watching the Wiggles and eating bananas and milk until 4:00 in the morning. If thats not living the life, then man, I simply don't know what is.
I finally took him to the doctor this morning where he had the worst freak out I have ever witnessed. He cried so hard, and so uncontrollably he actually passed out on my chest for 5-10 minutes while we waited for the doctor to come back with some of his test results. I mean, there was boogers and snot and tears coming out of places I wasn't aware was even possible. And the glares. It was enough to make me want to crawl into a hole. The way he looked at me as if to say, "This is YOUR fault" - I think I was just as traumatized as he was with the whole morning. I called Shaun crying and refused to take him to the doctor anymore by myself. I offered him a new train once we got to the car. He just looked at me sideways from beneath his red puffy slits of eyes and said "No", then looked straight ahead and wouldn't acknowledge me for most of the way back home.
Damn. Ouch.
Look, I'd like to clarify - I'm not a crybaby, nor am I typically oversensitive. I'm chalking my heightened emotional state to the lack of sleep as of lately.
And perhaps my crankiness.
I'm sure the belligerence has something to do with that too.
Okay maybe not the belligerence so much, I've been informed I'm usually that way sleep or not. But when you're denied by a toddler, let alone your own, I'm not really sure theres any step lower at that given moment. Especially when the very thing that has put you on his shit list is what you were hoping was going to help fix him.
Anyways after the doctor fiasco, Sully and I came to an agreement; that Lucky Charms are in fact the cereal's god answer to breakfast. I was willing to throw the whole box at him at that point if it garnished a smile. I gave him some rainbow's and my last clover's. We decided to be friends again. At nap he insisted one 1. Being given milk in a tiny miniature bottle and 2. bringing his giant monster truck into bed with him. Nobody will ever accuse him of not being a boy. I tried to trade the truck for a cuddle blanket or a stuffed animal.
My offer was refused.
I had to laugh mainly because watching anyone try to spoon and cuddle with a giant piece of metal is awkward at best, let alone an insistent toddler.
As he started to fall asleep, he crawled practically on top of me and wrapped his hands around my fingers. He rarely does this, so I knew the doctors visit really upset him (I still have a slight ball in the pit of my stomach thinking about it).
It was one of the very few times I've felt guilty for having to work. I so badly wanted to be the one home with him today, ALL day, taking care of him. Its just been an off couple of weeks, with all of us simply playing to a slightly different tempo.
I sat there, watching him sleep, instead of doing a million other things I should have been doing at that moment. His sweaty head drenched my shirt as he tossed around little. And I watched him.
And I smiled.
And I thought about all the times I've watched him hammer out a tune on his Papa's piano, squealing with delight and hysterical laughter as he plays his song. He doesn't care that its flat. He's not phased by the fact he can't read the sheet music. He's not bothered with the fact that to anybody else, the sound is just noise. But to this Mama, it's music to my ears. And I applaud loudly.
And he smiles. He's proud.
Because he doesn't care what the song sounds like, he's just happy that its playing. He's happy that its his. And I know that he has it right.
My past couple of weeks have been noise. But I need to start finding the joy of hammering out a rhythm again. I need to find the music in the noise, and relish it, whatever the song is sounding like right now. I need to learn to improvise when the start, or the middle, or even the end isn't going or sounding quite how I planned in my head - that its okay to omit out the parts that aren't working and change them up from time to time at my liberty - ad libitum.
And I look down at this face. And there it is. The slow hum of all my various elements warming up once again - getting ready for a great performance. I suppose sometimes all we need is a little inspiration to kick us back onto the stage, front and center, to try again. I tap the podium and count off - And one, and two, and three ...
Screeching rabbits be damned.
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