Weekend Review (sad edition)

This week (and weekend) has been a little rough. I’m not gonna lie. It makes me terrified of what’s to come: months of gray days, cold, dreary, yucky weather, and two boys who, despite being well equipped with warm coats, boots, mittens, and hats, hate hate hate the cold. They just suffer so much.IMG_0830 IMG_0824

Arthur has tears running down his cheeks as soon as the temperature hovers around the mid 30s. He cries but also refuses to be bundled up. When I approach him with his winter coat, he screams as if it was made of acid and writhes on the floor in an exorcism-like state. If he started hovering 4 feet above ground I wouldn’t even be surprised.

Julian just starts sulking and considers the weather a personal insult. All of a sudden everything hurts, he’s tired, and don’t even ask him about anything at all because speaking hurts in the “cold.”

They have no idea that it will be like this for months and that it will get even COLDER.

Everyone has colds, and there has been so much whining. And defiance. Everything is a test. To my patience, to see what my limits are, and to humanity in general. You think I’m exaggerating? I am not.

We took the boys to the New York City Fire Museum, but it was “scary” and also didn’t feature any contemporary firetrucks, so Mama and Papa are pretty much considered a giant failure in Julian’s book. Like why did we take him there in the first place. Losers.

Moments that have sustained me this weekend: Arthur pretend-coughing in tissue after tissue with such effort that I think he thinks he has been bowling with Dr. Spencer at the Gutter; Julian and Arthur quietly playing trains for about an hour; sitting on the couch reading a book, like actually reading, undisturbed. It was amazing.IMG_0875

Also, Arthur’s first experience with headphones. Mind blown.IMG_0887

And most importantly: Coffee. Beer. The promise of chili that cooked all day in the slow cooker and corn bread with lots of honey. IMG_0855 IMG_0890

And mostly: Arthur’s sweet face against mine as I had tears streaming down my face after a particularly defeating outing and while carrying my 30 pound child up the stairs. He saw I was crying and immediately looked so concerned. He pressed his cheek against mine, his wet lips on my face, and his dirty little fingers touching away my sad.

We may be raising children who whine when it’s (not even really) cold outside, but at least they are sweet in nature. Sometimes. Mostly.IMG_0888 IMG_0748

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