Seeing red

I am seeing red. Literally.

I am seeing washable Crayola red marker on the windows, the T.V. screen, Mary's belly, and the solid wood doors in the game room (thank the Lord for the builder's choice of high-gloss paint). It easily wipes clean, except from Mary's belly.

But I started seeing red last night. Literally.

I saw washable Crayola red marker all over my mom's white couch! I assumed it was Mary. But David was quick to blame his (imaginary) puppies, which made me a little suspicious. Soon enough, of his own accord, he admitted that he was the culprit. I thanked him for his honesty, and we set to work wiping off the washable marker...which suddenly wasn't very washable.

That's when I started seeing red...figuratively.

I was angry. Of course I was upset about the couch. And embarrassed--it's not my couch. (Sorry, Mom.) But most of all I was just plain mad about being a single mom. There was no dad to stick the kids in the bath while I scrubbed the couch. Just like there had been no dad to put the batteries in my kid's new toy.

Yes, that's where my frustration was coming from. Being solo for Christmas. Now, we had a wonderful, marvelous, magical Christmas. I will forever be grateful for the beautiful Christmas Greg's mother provided for us and the loved ones who were here to share it. Irregardless, Christmas is definitely a two parent job.

There was no dad to assemble new toys. No dad to manage the mess while I took pictures. No dad to help keep track of small pieces in big chaos. No dad to play with one kid while I played with the other. No dad to open stubborn packaging. Okay, I have to pause here and thank Uncle M for jumping in to pry the John Deere combine out of its package. I could see that one was way out of my league. I also have to thank Grandpa and Uncle B for fiddling around with a toy that wasn't working. But even though I had lots of help, it's still not the same. I missed having another adult entirely focused on my children.

Most of all, I missed having another adult with whom to trade naps. I did not get a Christmas nap! How can it be Christmas without a Christmas afternoon nap?! My children got their naps--in the car on the way home. By the the time we got back, they were perky and ready for action, and I was deliriously tired.

It was soon after we arrived home that David realized one of his toys needed batteries. Now, I am perfectly capable of finding a Philips screwdriver and a couple of AA batteries. I am perfectly capable of putting batteries in a toy.

BUT IT'S NOT MY JOB!

My job at Christmastime is plotting and planning and executing. It's making lists and going to Target two million times. It's decorating and baking and sending the kids to school with gifts for their teachers. It's remembering the traditions and making sure they happen. It's taking pictures and recording memories. It's staying up really late wrapping presents on Christmas Eve and then taking a nap on Christmas Day. It's NOT putting batteries in toys!

Somehow, miraculously, we made it to bedtime on Christmas Day. Like I said, I was delirious, so it's all little hazy. But I'm alive, and so are my children.

Unfortunately, the day after Christmas requires a partner too. Let's just say that Boxing Day 2009 wasn't the happiest of days I've spent with my children. So by the time I found the "washable" red Crayola marker on the white couch, I was finished. Finished dealing with kids. Finished cleaning their messes and listening to their whining and forcing them into pajamas. Finished being their mom.

But with Greg gone, there is no such thing as finished. That's why I am seeing red.