This morning I woke up and prayed that I would have the energy and willpower to clean up my house. Usually that's enough to get me going, but today was different. Today Clark chose to communicate using nothing but a high-pitched squealing sound for two and a half solid hours. I knew he was hungry (he's eaten little since his stomach flu last week) but he just screamed in my face when I offered him even his very favorite foods. I think he was so hungry that nothing sounded good. But he didn't say that. What he actually said was more like, "IDON'TWANTTO ahhhhhhAHHHHHH eeeeEEEEAAATTTT!" He said he didn't want to eat or do anything, and he said it all just like that, shrieked in my face.
Eventually I got tired of trying to make him feel better when he so obviously just needed to eat and said, "Honey you are starving. I am cooking this hot dog and feeding it to you whether you like it or not. I will put the bites in your mouth." He replied with his standard, "I don't want to ahhhhAHHHHeeeEEEEAATTT a hot dog." But then he paused for a moment and said, "I want to eat a cold dog." He took a cold hot dog out of the package and ate the entire thing as fast as he could. I was so glad he was eating something that I didn't even flinch. He began speaking like a normal human as soon as it was gone. We both felt so much better that we sat across from each other at the kitchen table and started smiling and then laughing. We laughed and laughed at ourselves without saying a word.
With my ears still buzzing from the afternoon's eternal whine (not to be confused with eternal wine, which I would have gladly taken during the peak of things) I called my mom and told her what was going on at our house and she offered to take Clark to see the Chipmunks movie with them. Um, yes. Yes you may. I dropped him off at the theater and noticed my tank was almost on empty, so I headed to the gas station with Alice asleep in the backseat.
I got out of the car and stood there in the 10 degree air and got gas without gloves, my fingers numb against the icy metal pump. The gasoline spilled a little and the smell combined with the windchill and the Lady Gaga song the gas station was blaring created this surreal zen moment that was jarringly both unpleasant and beautiful. It was like a very tiny vacation in a way I can't even explain. I soaked up every second it took to put 19.25 gallons of gas in my 20 gallon tank.
I got back in the car and felt a little like I'd been slapped in the face. In a good way.
Now it's 8:30 and I'm about to put Clark in bed because he's tired but I keep putting it off because I know that when he does fall asleep, I'll miss him.
(PS. I had never put more than 18 gallons of gas in my tank before. I am so thankful we didn't run out. This would be a really different post if we had.)
I wrote this post on Thursday but for some reason didn't feel like publishing it. I feel like publishing it now.