I was having another rollercoaster day yesterday. Actually they are all pretty much rollercoaster days, these days. Just the nature of the beast right now. But yesterday I was really feeling it.
It started a few minutes before six in the am, when Ethan padded in to tell me he had gotten up to pee and just couldn't get back to sleep. Nearly an hour and a half before he truly needed to awaken.
When I went in to their room to get Jake shortly thereafter, he woke up crying and yelling, exactly the same way he'd gone to sleep the night before.
Getting both kids out the door to school? Took everything out of me, and it was only eight am.
The sky was crackling blue. It was a beautiful, seriously beautiful day.
But my heart just wasn't in it. I felt off. Going through the motions, but not fully inhabiting my body.
My ten-thousand item to-do list shortened only slightly, in spite of much doing all day long.
And Ethan was a cranky tired beast when I picked him up from his playdate, on our way to synagogue for our Hebrew School's annual Sukkot celebration.
In synagogue, however, there were moments of grace, of beauty. Standing one arm around each boy, my husband just to the other side of Ethan, swaying and singing ancient melodies my ancestors had chanted unto hundreds of generations back, I felt my heart opening, softening. I felt connected to something vastly larger than myself, a thing braided of community and spirit; a rooting that was much needed, deeply felt and vastly appreciated.
Jake looked over to me at one point and offered up a rare spontaneous "I love you Mommy." Ethan leaned against me and snuggled into my shoulder (he may have taken a little nap).
And then Ethan melted down over the lack of soda or pizza at the potluck supper. Declaring lasagna and other delicious food "disgusting." Sigh. He had Challah bread for dinner. And water. (But how come I'm the one who feels like a prisoner?)
And today? I was even offer (I know that's not an actual word - but do you really want to pick a fight with me today? No, didn't think so.)
And then I noticed the date.
It's October 6th.
A really crappy date for our family. (In spite of it being a dear friend of mine's birthday - Hello Elizabeth, this has nothing to do with you darling, YOUR October 6th is a lovely date.)
Two years ago today, we buried my 93 year-old mother-in-law who had passed on the 4th.
And eight years ago today?
Jake got his first autism diagnosis.
Some dates you just don't forget, even if on the surface you appear to. The sit subconsciously in the back of your skull coloring everything around them until the light bulb goes off and the connection is made.
Sad, bad, mad anniversaries.
I hate 'em.
Nothing to do but forge ahead, get through it.
And be glad that, to quote Scarlett and Jacob, "Tomorrow's another day."