This Tuesday I had planned a double header - a train trip in the morning and then, another train trip in the afternoon! But then the universe decided to take a big dump all over our plans.
1. I locked myself out of the apartment, with you inside. I was schlepping all the soggy boxes out of our yard for recycling when the wind slammed the front door shut behind me. I didn't sweat it. You'd been opening the door all morning, telling me you were ready to go on the train, so I figured it was only a matter of time before you opened it again. A few minutes passed. I began to wonder what you were doing in there. I called your name, asked you to let me in, offered you chocolate, but nothing. So I scaled two fences and broke into our own backyard, a tricky maneuver I've had to pull off a few times before, but never in 30 degree weather and never barefoot.
2. We had to go to the doctor. To make sure your ear infection had cleared up. We left early and took the R to
3. They took your temperature at the doctor's, and you had a fever of 100.5! That canceled our post nap train adventure, which was the really good one. It involved taking the train to the
And it did, get much worse. You got so sick that I feel silly for complaining about such trivialities as the purple/green bruise on my forearm from breaking into my own house, and Stanley, the OCD train. The rest of the week made Tuesday look like a parental dream. We spent the afternoon painting stars on your big boy bed. You were so excited about the bed project that you only asked to go on the train once or twice. You refused to put any stars in the center of the footboard. You are saving that space for two buses.
I am sometimes prone to getting irrationally angry when small things go wrong. One of my favorite blogs, Hyperbole and a Half, calls this the Sneaky Hate Spiral, which is what happens when a barrage of small annoyances finally push a person over the edge. Having you around helps keep the Sneaky Hate Spiral in check. I want you to be better than that, to not lose your shit over the small knocks we all take, day to day. So I try and set a good example. If one of us is going to throw a temper tantrum, it really ought to be you.
I kept my cool on Train Day. Even when you screamed at me for dragging you away after a paltry 30 minutes of trainspotting, when you laid down outside Target and rubbed your lips on the tile floor, when you ran your hand along the station wall where I am quite certain a homeless man recently urinated. When we left the doctors and walked to the station and I imagined that deep inside your small body your temperature was ticking higher and higher with every step until I almost did the unthinkable and called for a car service. Instead we waited 15 long minutes for the R train to come and take us home, and you told me again and again that Gordon was coming, that we would ride Gordon home, and that he would be blue. The R train thundered into the station, looking nothing like Gordon. I braced myself for your disappointment. But you slid off the bench and shouted, "here is Gordon!" and pulled me towards the opening doors.
You helped me remember something I'd forgotten. Things are never so bad, if you know how to look at them just right.