So many things are impossible to explain.
Why, for example, I haven’t posted in a week and a half. Completely inexplicable. No reason for it–no excuse.
Why, as well, I fell into a total and debilitating slump that lasted for three interminable weeks. Equally inexplicable is why I snapped out of it.
I have decided it was a form of emotional flu. For several days, I dragged around, denying that I could be coming down with anything. Then I succumbed utterly and spent days barely dragging myself out of bed. Then I started to feel better and would start each day with a burst of energy, only to start lagging late afternoon and end up back in bed by 8:30. Now I feel just fine.
I guess the strain of the summer finally caught up with me. There’s a well-known pattern for migraine sufferers: they are fine in the midst of a crisis. But when the stress finally lifts and they can finally relax, WHAM! Here comes the headache. One of my biggest triggers for my headaches is hosting a party. I really enjoy entertaining, and I usually will have a great time. But often the minute the last guests head out of the driveway, I’m clutching my forehead in agony. My husband, more attuned to these things, often takes me aside in the middle of a get-together and asks if I should just go ahead and take a pill.
I guess this was like that.
Inexplicable: why MapKid can be such a joy one minute and such a pest the next. Friday and Saturday he was an absolute joy. Then Sunday morning he woke up in a flaming temper. He got 12 strikes before we even made it out the door, strikes being given for transgressions such as throwing your underpants across the room, whacking your mother with a tennis shoe, and deliberately pouring an entire glass of water on the floor.
Sunday afternoon he was charming.
I can’t explain it.
Inexplicable: why MapKid felt the need to confess to me.
I was helping him take a bath when he said, “Mommy? Do you remember the Christmas that Santa brought me Buzz Lightyear?”
“Yeah,” I said, “That was the Christmas before last.”
He looked, there is no other word, sheepish.
“Do you remember how I was in my room, and you told me not to peek?”
MapKid’s room looks out into the living room, with, God help us, French doors covered with curtains. “Santa” had positioned Buzz under the tree in the living room.
“Yeah,” I said.
He hung his head. “I peeked,” he said. “A little.”
He looked so serious–I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
“It’s OK, buddy,” I said. “I bet Santa didn’t mind.”
And a final inexplicable incident:
I was talking to my husband and the cat jumped up next to me on the sofa. I started to pet her and realized she was covered all over with damp spots, as if she had been out in the rain–but it wasn’t raining.
“That’s really strange,” I said. “I wonder why the cat is wet all over.”
MapKid wanedered into the room. “Oh, that’s cause I was licking her.”
I had no idea we needed a rule for that.