I roll over and look at the clock. 6:20 in the morning. And Gerry isn't up yet. Wow. Usually he's poking me in the face and chattering away with a big smile as if to day come on daddy! There's sooooo much to do today!
I get up and put the coffee on. I guess Gerry was awake after all and was waiting for me to get up because I turn around and he's in the kitchen, right behind me, laughing his devious 'I'm sneaky Daddy!' laugh while I pretend to be annoyed and chase him down the hallway and give him tickles and belly raspberries while he squeals with delight.
As usual, the ex dropped off the boys Friday night after work. They are both getting more and more excited to come over, which is awesome since for the longest time after we split, Nick didn't want to come over at all, let alone spend the night. And the entire weekend? Forget it. So it's been a long, arduous journey to reach this stage, and more than likely, he may decide to go back to not wanting to spend time with me, so I'm grateful for every eager weekend he spends with me.
I fix Gerry some oatmeal, which he usually loves, but Saturday he just kind of sniffed at it, shook his head emphatically and said "nonono" a few times. Sigh, I hope he's not going off oatmeal already. He didn't seem to want anything, so I let him slide until Nick got up and I made us all scrambled eggs, which Gerry wolfed down like he hadn't eaten in ages. Good enough for me. Nick always did eat like a bird, picking at his food, pushing it around the plate, eating a half-bite every minute, hoping against hope that I dismiss him from the breakfast table, which I eventually do.
We mostly draw pictures on Gerry's new easel I got him for Christmas, while an Elmo DVD plays in the background. Nick loves drawing and Gerry's right in there too, but I eventually had to take away the markers and crayons because Gerry would not stop drawing on anything other than paper and in the last month or so he's been starting to get really defiant with telling him things.
I put Gerry down for a nap close to lunch time, but he will not sleep for more than 5 minutes. I can always get him to sleep by running my fingers through his hair and then lightly stroking his cheek, and if that doesn't work then I very gently stroke the bridge of his nose from the eyebrow to the tip. That NEVER fails; he WILL be out like a light, provided he's sleepy to begin with. But not Saturday. After battling to get him to sleep, I give up and let him out of his room. I make macaroni and cheese for lunch and then we bundle up and head over to the community club to skate. Nick's been dying to skate since I got him skates for Christmas. We get there, and I get the boys inside so Nick can get his skates on, and all of the sudden, Gerry decides he's tired and cranky and it's ALL DADDY'S FAULT! He throws a giant, 1000 megaton kicking and screaming fit right inside the community club and he will not be consoled. Gerry has done this maybe one other time, and I am not impressed.
Nick's waiting for me to take him to the rinks, but I tell him to go ahead and I'll see him out there. He sighs and insists I come out with him now to which I snap back (a little too harshly) that I can't right this second, and he needs to just get started. Now. He trundles off, clearly disappointed, but he'll shake it off soon enough.
I finally get Gerry calmed down and outside with me and I try to give Nick a few pointers with his skating as he is still just learning, but he is getting more and more frustrated every time he falls. I'm afraid I don't have much advice to give him unless I have skates on of my own. I started skating almost instantly and naturally since I was 4. I don't think I've skated in about 5 years, and I pick it up again just like that. It's hard for me to explain to him what to do. It's like explaining to someone step by step how to walk. You can kind of do it, but it feels really awkward to say.
Gerry will not stop fussing and crying. I put him down on the ice and he immediately makes a beeline for the pucks the other boys are playing with. I'm chasing him around the rink, making sure he's not disrupting the other kids' play. Nick desperately wants to show off to me, but I'm preoccupied with Gerry. Nick's getting really upset. Gerry's getting really upset. My nerves are getting frayed. It's getting cold outside. After only 20 or so minutes, we all decide to head home. We stop of at one of the corner stores in my neighbourhood and I let Nick get some ice cream to kind of make up for the bust of an afternoon we had. I get some powdered cocoa too so we can make hot chocolate when we get in.
We get home, I chase Gerry around to get him undressed, put water on for the hot chocolate and check on the roast chicken I have in the slow cooker. It seems to be doing very well. I whip up some hot chocolate and give Nick his mug along with his ice cream and finally, things seem to calm down. Gerry flaked out a half-hour earlier than his bedtime, and Nick and I amuse ourselves with Youtube and video games while munching on popcorn.
Sunday was pretty much more of the same. We watched Newcastle United minus their star African players beat a very limp Queen's Park Rangers 1-0 in front of a subdued St. James' Park crowd. Gerry whined and fussed and clung onto me. I took the boys to the park and Gerry whined and fussed and clung onto me. We drew and coloured. We watched Finding Nemo. I read to them and Nick read to Gerry and Gerry fussed and whined. I tried to occupy Gerry with about a dozen different things, but he wasn't having any of it. And as much as I hate to admit it, I was kind of glad Gerry was going home on Sunday. My nerves were rubbed raw, and I could have used some help with him. And as I type that, I'm stabbed with pangs of guilt, but it was how I felt nonetheless. And I got short with Nick a lot more than I should have, because he so desperately wanted my time and attention, and I had precious little of it to give. Just a frustrating weekend all around.
As the van door closed, Gerry looked over to me and smiled, put his hand to his mouth and make a blowing kiss gesture. Nick didn't want anyone to know that he hugs me and tells me he misses me and loves me, so he doesn't say anything, pretends I'm not there. The van drives away and tears are welling up in my eyes, but I hold off the waterworks. I hold their faces in my memory and spend the rest of the evening looking at old pictures of them while having one or two beer too many.
The apartment is way too quiet now.
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