Apples and Trees

By the time I picked him up from preschool, it was already later than I had hoped due to an after-school meeting. 

We’d had a busy weekend, are still adjusting to the time change, and all had a busy work and school day.  Since my husband and older son were already out at martial arts and doing grocery pick-up, it was my turn to make dinner. 

Coming into our garage, he announced that he wanted a snack.  And to watch a show.  And time to play. Sure, to all three.

Dinner came a little late due to the after school activities, and we decreed that it was straight to getting ready for bedtime after eating. 

“But I want my popsicle!” he said, which I had, in a moment of weakness earlier, promised him he could have after dinner. He also wanted his Mommy play-time, and to take a bath, and to play in the bath.  And to read a book. And maybe some wrestling? Some of these got a yes, and others got a no, and we worked to point our overtired boys towards their bedrooms.

The older son, who is a morning lark, went back tiredly and agreeably to get showered and ready for bed.

The younger son, who I suspect to be a night owl, protested.  He’d had a long day of preschool learning, and after all that time away from home and being around all those people, he wasn’t ready to turn in yet despite how tired he clearly was. He needed his “me” time – time to unwind, to relax, to play, to read, to take a hot bath, to grab a snack, to watch his favorite show, and to put his feet up awhile.  

The thing was, he was so obviously tired, I couldn’t believe he didn’t want to just go to bed! These other things would have to wait until tomorrow. 

Somewhere along the way, between the hot bath he didn’t want to get out of and the extra books he was bargaining for, it dawned on me that this actually felt a little too familiar. With chagrin, I realized: Ah, yes.  Apples and trees. And apparently, mirrors.

Finally, we made our way through the fatigue-fueled meltdown, the negotiations, the waiting, the compassionate acknowledgements of these big hard feelings, and into pajamas and his awaiting rocking chair. He fell soundly asleep against my chest before the end of the first book. I had a moment to catch my breath and to ruminate on how three doesn’t last forever. 

And there we rocked. A tree and her apple, an apple and his tree.

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This piece is part of the #SOL24 March Slice of Life Story Challenge hosted by the Two Writing Teachers.