Home again home, jiggety jig

After 6 days of visitng the hallowed ground of Provo, Utah, my kids are home. I have missed them dearly, but the respite has been so needed. I had a gazillion things to do while they were gone; I accomplished about three of the things on that list. If I were a better person, I would lament my lack of productivity. But I am a slacker at heart and I can only revel in the complete freedom that sitting on my ass provided during the break.
This afternoon when Matt drove up with the kids, I was a jumble of nerves and excitement. As they tumbled out of the car, I had so many random thoughts about their return. In no particular order, they are as follows:
1. Thank God, they got home safely.
2. Holy fuck, they’re home and now I have to go back on the clock.
3. They are so stunningly beautiful.
4. Christ, they’re so damn loud.
5. I am so lucky to have three kids who love me and are actually happy to see me.
6. Shit, the younger two are clinging to me. I need some room to breathe.
7. I missed them so much. Why couldn’t Matt and I make it work?
8. Duh, stupid head, if it doesn’t work after 14 years and a divorce, it will NEVER work. Never, ever, ever.
As ever, the rational part of my head and the idiotic dreamy side fought it out until I could no longer stomach it and moved onto other things. Once the kids were inside and had bid good-bye to Matt, things returned to normal at warp speed. Within minutes the girls in Loren’s class were calling him on both lines. Devon was absorbed in his Hot Wheels cars and toddling around. Cassidy had a full on melt down within an hour. She decided that dinner, which was to be chicken and rice, could absolutely never be on the same plate at the same time. She then went on to outline all of the many things that were displeasing to her. The discussion went something like this:
Cass: “I can never eat that, it’s gross.”
Me: “You’ve had chicken and rice many times, and you’ve liked it.”
Cass: “Well, not tonight. Duh.”
Me: “Hmmm. I guess you’ll be hungry then.”
Cass: “Why can’t you make me something else.”
Me: “Since I am not a waitress and this is not a restaraunt there is only the chicken and rice.”
Cass; “I hate this. I’m going to go live with Daddy. He lets me eat whatever I want and he is always fun. ALWAYS!”
This where I could have featured some of my better mothering skills. I do so want to win that ever elusive Mother of the Year award, but I inevtibally end up falling on my face and missing the nominations. When I could have, and should have, shown sensitivity and patience, I chose to be a smart ass and countered the wretch with this:
“You know his number, honey. Or wait, better yet, let me help you. I’ll call him. Did you want to reach him by cell phone or the land line? I bet his car is still warm from the long trip and he can run up here and fetch you.”
Fuuuuck. Why do I let her get to me? I had a million chances during that exchange to be the Good Mom, the Loving Mom. Instead, I failed. Miserably. Here’s to Motherhood.