Tea

A cup of tea solves most things. At least for me. I truly feel that tea might be what is most missing from quality western medicine - well, at least from decent hospital menus. The only time that home birth remotely tempts me is when I ask for tea at the hospital and get tepid dishwater or a lukewarm Tim Horton's (courtesy of my husband, not the hospital staff). Does childbirth not require good tea?

So, you might wonder, what is tea solving for you right now, Elena?

Nothing specific; I think I've just hit the end of the school year like one hits a wall in a marathon: the end is in sight but I can't run anymore. I just want to throw on the TV and plunk the kids there indefinitely. I am worn out by cooking, emotions, tears, phonics, unmade beds and laundry. I will stop the list there as, I am sure you realise, it comes close to infinite.

I do realise that my sudden exhaustion is mostly due to the fact that Dave is almost on vacation and so I feel that I get to throw in the towel. Except that I don't: people still need clean clothes and good meals. Oh, and the groceries: we are in perpetual need of groceries - cue music: House of the Empty Fridge sung to House of the Rising Sun.


Also, I just arrived home from the end of the school year mass at which Jacob read the Responsorial Psalm, Hannah proclaimed the second reading (apparently, she has been poured out as a libation!), Isaac arched his back, spat out his soother and hit his head. Thank God the church had a crying room; because where else could Joseph have found such neatly stacked chairs from which to jump while Ben gestured wildly (and silently) that Joseph needed some sort of firm discipline? I gestured back just as wildly that there was no one present to provide such discipline as Joseph has a habit of proclaiming easy victories over his mother in public arenas. Take a moment to pause and imagine our interchange.

I was about to consult with Ben when I decided that I would threaten Joseph with a spank from the elderly male caretaker (who had already left the crying room with a scowl on his face - what was he doing in there anyway?). Joseph's response to this extraordinary measure of discipline was to stare suspiciously at the caretaker all the while determining that his mother had no discernible relationship with this man and thus could not call upon him for correction. Back to jumping from chairs and firm motherly manipulation which elicited the expected, "Ow, that hurts, Mommy."

We somehow made it through and one of the other two people in the crying room (who also happened to be our village's last mayor) turned to the boys and said, "You have been some of the best behaved boys that I have ever seen at mass." Perhaps his retirement was a wise decision.

So, I am ignoring the kids, blogging and drinking tea. I think that I deserve this respite even though the resulting chaos might be unprecedented. Hopefully it will not necessitate a trip to the ER.

But, having felt this way countless times before, I know that this too shall pass. The clouds will roll on out, the sun will shine and we'll go swimming; or, at least, the kids will be kept from drowning.