PMS and the Library

This post is laced with female hormones, the ones that make me particularly cranky and sensitive this time of the month. I didn't realize it was that time until I found myself crying as I walked the last half block from the library to my car this morning after story time. The tears didn't come exactly from nowhere. Although I'm embarrassed that where they came from is such a petty place. It can be humiliating to cry so easily.

Our trip to story time didn't start off well. We had to park two blocks from the library. It was already nearly 90 degrees. As we began to walk to the library, my daughter asked to be carried. Did I mention it was hot? And that she weighs nearly 30 pounds? And that she usually walks? I said no, at which point she began screaming bloody murder, dropping dramatically to the sidewalk, slumping and screaming louder. Eventually, through a mixture of carrying her, convincing her to walk while holding her brother's hand, and, at some points, pulling her along despite her incredibly loud protests, we made it there.

This is only our second trip to story time here. It is painful sometimes to watch my son with other children. He hangs back. He watches them but clings to me. He is three, but he is always trying to crawl into my lap. At one point the children were taking turns playing a game of using a flyswatter to try to swat a flashlight beam "fly" on the floor. My son was wriggling with excitement, waiting for his turn. But when his turn came, he walked forward slowly, gave one hesitant little swat, and turned back toward me. "Go on," I encouraged him, as did the story time librarian. So he swatted a little more, but not the way I know he wanted to.

It's painful watching that inhibition. He is too much like me in that respect. I was like that as a kid -- and, who am I kidding, as an adult -- always hanging back, always wanting to join in but not knowing how or feeling I wouldn't be able to do things as well as the other kids, always feeling as if I were on the outside looking in. How did I pass this on to him? Gah! I wanted to scream, to drop him off at the nearest daycare or preschool, to say, "Take him! I'm ruining him! He needs to get away from me!"

Then came lunch. They feed kids a sack lunch after story time in the summers, and my son, as usual, was very much looking forward to eating. He had asked about this bag lunch twenty times that morning. As soon as the librarian got out the lunches, most of the other kids hurried to get in line. I told my son to go ahead, that I would follow with his sister. He hesitated, although I know he wanted to go ahead. But he waited for me. And we stood at the end of the line, politely letting little ones get by with cutting ahead of us. We were considerate. When we saw a little boy had been waiting for quite some time for his lunch, we made sure he got his first. And then, and then . . . they ran out. That's right. We were the last ones in line, and the food was all gone. I watched in horror as she handed the last bag to a little boy. And then she turned, as if the three of us were not even there, and walked away to help someone else with something. Mind you, she never would have done that on purpose. She was busy -- there was quite a crowd there today -- and somehow didn't realize my two kids were going to have to go without lunches. She never would have let it happen intentionally without at least an apology.

Still, when my son didn't get his sack lunch, it was painful. My daughter didn't care one way or another, but my son, my son who is trying to get used to trusting teachers and to waiting his turn and to having fun in a classroom setting for his upcoming start of preschool . . . my son cared very much. "I'm sorry, sweetie," I explained. "They ran out. We'll stop and get you something else on the way home."

His face fell, and then as I waited for the inevitable wailing to start, I felt a lump in my own throat.

Geez, I told myself, it's just a sack lunch. It's no big deal. Yet I had to fight back the tears.

I took my son out of the room so he wouldn't have to watch all the other kids eat. I talked to him and did my best to calm him down and reassure him before we left.

And that's when it got really fun. It was now about 95 degrees, and I was carrying library books, and my daughter was refusing to walk. She had a kicking and screaming and throwing her shoes and socks off fit in the middle of the sidewalk. So I had to carry her almost the entire two blocks to the car, at which point I realized I had lost one of the library books, so we had to go back and look for it. Once I was holding all the books, my son's hand, my daughter, and her socks and shoes, I made my way to the car. And I was crying. Crying hard enough that I was making little noises, and my son asked, "Mommy, why are you laughing?"

"I'm not laughing, sweetie," was all I could answer. I saw the traffic going by, was humiliated to think how many people were looking at us and seeing me cry. There was no way to miss me -- the fat, sweaty, crying lady with the messed up hair and the two little kids and the library books. I cried all the way home. I hate when I do that. I wanted to model good coping skills -- okay, so the food was gone, we'll have fun anyway. But no, I cried. It sucked.

It sucks to feel invisible. It sucks even worse to watch your child feel invisible. And it all sucks more still when you have PMS.