Its hot, and tense. Ever since he came home, he cannot tolerate heat. He becomes agitated, beligerant, downright nasty. NOT the door opening, yes ma'am, light your cigarrette man he is most other days.
Today he is the self absorbed (and that is okay, I get it), buzzing, red, land mine husband. I love him dearly, but, sometimes I need to get away too....
The baby cry is too much, the "Daddy! Dad! Daddy!" swirling up the stairs hitting heavy on his ears, the 564th time he's heard, "I'm bored, I want to go to a friend's house...." from our oldest. Today, the day of his Fallen, its just too much.
It really is too much for even me to have to carry. But I try. I clean and straighten and hustle about the kids, keeping them busy, keeping them from fighting, keeping them from raising their voices, hush the baby....
I can't do it all, everytime. I'm human. Remember? Born of the same flesh as anyone else. I can't keep the natural energy of boys contained for long.
And then, an explosion. In my house, in my yard, across the river. On this day, the day to remember the Fallen, the GOD-DAMNED FUCKING PAPER MILL EXPLODES.
Sirens. Police. Fire. Ambulance. We know the different sounds of them. We know so well how close chaos is by the downshifting of the fire engines. I know. I know its close.
Those clouds peeking through the spaces of our monstrous boxelder tree.... so dark, so ominous, I was mentally preparing while inahling and exhaling. Inhale: Fuck. Exhale: Wonder how bad this one will be. Inhale: I need to get the baby for a nap...before it starts. Exhale: Maybe this will be quick. Inhale: Be calm, be quiet. quietcalmquietcalmquietcalm. That's my mantra when I prepare to deal with "combat petey". The wild eyed husband that is PTSD. Quiet, and calm. Works well.
As I'm destroying my lungs and the air around me, the neighbors start coming from the houses. I snuff the cig out thinking, "OH yeaaaaaa, oh YES! Thank you!" and I subconciously flick off the sky.
But it isn't a storm that draws them like a moth to the flame. It actually is flame! FIRE! The papermill is on fire, and in a glorious step to my right, I can clearly see, those aren't dark, ruin your freaking life clouds, that is SMOKE! I immediately redact my giant fuck you to the sky and look at my neighbors. It is a fire. And here come the sirens.
We walked down to sift through the carnage. It wasn't quite that dramatic, but if I could have, that is what I would have done. But, kids in tow, with my neighbor, we walked the 4 blocks down the river to get a clearer view.
But all the excitement has worn on him, and we are home now, and the baby is crying, that nap isn't happening after all. I am tired. To the bones. Seriously, my arm bones hurt. Have you ever been that tired? Its not just a saying.
And, there is a chance of more explosions.....