We had a traumatic morning. It started with yelling. Never a great thing. I woke up to Connor upset with our older two kids, Annabelle and Hayden. I couldn’t tell what he was frustrated about but I could tell I didn’t want to get up and deal with any of it yet. Unfortunately, today was Monday. This realization made me drag my sore and exhausted self out of bed. Connor had to get to work and I needed to make breakfast for the kids.
When I descended the stairs, Connor was kind enough to fill me in on what I had missed. Hayden had helped himself to the tub of peanuts. Not a crime in of itself but he had decided the couch was the place to eat them. When he wasn’t eating them he had his foot in the tub. Swirling it around to feel the peanuts between his toes…because 3 year olds are bizarre and have no concept of germs.
I turned on the coffee maker and tried to defuse the tensions. This didn’t last. Before the machine could even fully heat I had been bombarded with at least 10 demands, 3 whining sessions, and 2 frustrated grunt/yells which were followed by a nice stomping storm off. I finished the coffee and tried to have 5 minutes with Connor before he had to start work. We did not get that 5 minutes. Between the continued demands and fits we finally gave up and he went off to work. This is when the twins decided to grace us with their waking. I got the twins up, changed, and dressed. Sent the older two to get dressed – which involved at least 4 times of them asking if they could wear seasonably innapropriate clothing. No. You cannot wear your tankini when it is 3 degrees outside. No, even if you layer it with a long sleeve shirt you cannot wear a sundress, I do enough laundry.
Mornings like this aren’t my strong suit. I don’t handle constant jabbering well. I knew if I wanted to get food on the table without loosing it on the kids I needed a break. I got Annabelle and Hayden into their snowsuits and sent them outside to explore. I whipped up some baked oatmeal and decided to vacuum while it was in the oven completing the “baked” part of the name. I was just starting to vacuum the stairs when Annabelle entered the first time. She felt I needed to know the stray cat she had seen the day before had come back. Great. Go back outside. Im a couple stairs up when she comes in again. This time it was to inform me it was cold out. Yes. Its December and we live in Minnesota. Good thing the tankini was nixed. I told her to get her bottom outside until I called her in to eat. I was 8 stairs up when the door opened again. “There better be blood or fire”, I hollered in a clearly agitated voice. A phrase I picked up from my mother that I am not always proud of using. This is when I looked over to see Annabelle on the verge of tears holding up what I can only describe as – a kittysicle. The cat whom Annabelle had spent the last 2 months nursing back to health – assuming it was healthy at some point in its life – was dead. Frozen hard as a rock. Happy Monday. Mom of the year award does not go to me.
Mornings like this make me glad my husband works from home. I got a box for Kitty, Connor went out and found a place to bury her. We took turns holding and consoling Annabelle. Trying to answer her questions and help her process as well as we were able. Ever since she witnessed her 7 year old uncle pass away from cancer in 2020, she has had a terrible time accepting death. The one question she has desperately wanted an answer for is one I’m not sure I will ever be able to answer, why. Why did Judah have to die? Am I going to die? Will my brother die? Or after todays events, the question was why did kitty have to die?
Today I was reminded of one of the reasons we bought our little farm. We wanted our children to witness and be able to accept death. Living in the metro we were completely removed from it. Until my brother in laws passing, Annabelle didn’t experience death. People or animals. We don’t hunt and also didn’t keep livestock on our small city lot – not that we would have been permitted to by our homeowners association. We had target 2 miles away where we could buy all the meat we needed. You can explain nuggets come from chickens until you are blue in the face but I honestly believe most kids think they come in a similar manor as eggs.
I was never taught to deal with death, and I don’t want to make that same mistake with my children. We as a society have mostly detached ourselves from it and as christians have pushed it to the wayside by offering a trite, “theyre in a better place”. To which I would like to point out the following verse, “Like one who takes away a garment on a cold day, or like vinegar poured on a wound, is one who sings songs to a heavy heart.” Proverbs 25:20.
The reality of this world is that we will all die. Ideally after a long and fulfilling life, but we aren’t guaranteed that luxury. While I don’t cherish the fact that my children are experiencing loss, I am hopeful that by having these experiences their hearts will be able to prepare for the cruel truth that they will loose those they love.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28
