Warning: The 'Wave of Instability' That Comes After Summer Vacation

My living room has been occupied by a gang of brothers.

There is no place for me, their mother, to be.

I am sitting on the stairs, writing this note.

This has been my daily life lately.

They moved the dining table to the very center of the living room and are bringing down pillows, blankets, and other bedding from upstairs one after another.

I have already given up on this area.
It's a hassle, but I'm not quite at the point of furrowing my brow like a demon tile.
I've grown, haven't I? I used to get so irritated. I've really been trained well (looking into the distance).

The top of the dining table is, without question, the older brother's area.
The space underneath is the younger brother's area.

They are silently building a secret base.
They are working so hard on it.

The older one has even decorated it with his favorite plastic car models and the boxes they came in.
He has arranged cushions and pillows with a sense of style.
It has actually turned into a decent room, so I'm quite impressed.

A sibling quarrel breaks out.

They are arguing about this and that, saying things like, 'I was going to use that!'

Fighting over a clothespin.

To think they can argue this much over a single clothespin.
In a way, it's peaceful.

Watching them argue from the stairs, I start thinking about things I don't need to think about.

My sensitive second-grade son is not going to school.

If things were normal, school would have started by now,
If things were normal, he wouldn't be here,

If things were normal, he would surely be spending time in the classroom with his teacher and friends.

If things were normal.
See, there it is again, my 'normal'.

I must believe in him.
He will be fine.

No matter how many times I try to overwrite it, my 'normal' keeps overwriting me back.

When that happens, sitting here on the stairs right now feels incredibly, somehow, heartbreaking.

Damn it.

Beyond my line of sight,

is my son, working hard to build his secret base.
Sweating, working so hard.

There, he feels no guilt about not going to school.
No loneliness, no hesitation, nothing.

All I can feel is his strong will.

I am who I am.

It's always me who feels uneasy.

If his eyes are sparkling, then that's fine! I could say that to someone else, but
when it comes to my own child, I suddenly start to waver.

After a long break.
I'm sure a wave of instability is coming for my son.

Even if he doesn't go to school, he must sense something; I remember how incredibly volatile he was last year.

It's exhausting to dwell on it, but I decided to be prepared.
And, without fail, I'm the one who tends to get swallowed by that wave.
He is a pro at dragging me into that wave.

The unstable boy and the unstable mother hold hands and get swallowed by the rough waves together.

Oh my.

It tends to happen.

In reality, it's much messier.

A little while ago, it seems I stepped on a landmine, and he started acting out uncontrollably. And then, he turned his anger toward his younger brother.
At times like this, the younger brother starts to look like such a cute, precious baby.
I find myself thinking, 'I must protect this cute little thing!!' and that turns me into a fierce demon.

The thorny words coming out of his mouth don't just pass through my heart; they get tangled up in it one by one.

In an instant, I was swallowed by the rough waves and became completely rigid.

'If you're that frustrated, go punch the futon in the bedroom!'

My son stomps up the stairs and is making all sorts of crashing and banging noises in the bedroom.

Yeah.
That's fine.
Is it, though?
I don't know.
When I feel like I'm about to explode, I throw my pillow against the wall in the bedroom, shouting 'Don't mess with me!' (just between us).
It doesn't hurt anyone, and it doesn't bother anyone.
When I'm done, I pick up the pillow I threw myself.

After a while, it gets quiet, and he comes back downstairs.

'I've calmed down now.'

Then, he went to apologize to his younger brother.

I opened the bedroom door to tidy up the futons, which I assumed would be a mess.
(By the way, we use futons and sleep in a row.)

WOW! Bravo.

He really went to town on it, didn't he?
Bring it on.

I notice something.
His own spot is completely untouched and neat.

Wow.
His personality really shows.

It really makes me laugh, honestly.

I tidied up the chaotic futons, sweating as I did so, and when I returned to the living room, he was making something with his lips pursed.

That sight felt so endearing that I gave his cheek a kiss.

He then smiled, looking embarrassed,

and wiped the spot where I had kissed him with his hand.

'Hey! Mom, I saw that! Why are you wiping it off!'

Even though I should have known better, I persistently kissed his other cheek.

He wiped it off again.

I kissed the back of his head.

"Hahaha!!!! You can't wipe this off, can you!"

He gave a soft laugh and went back to what he was building before.

What is this cold shoulder?

Well, whatever.

5:00 PM.
I tidy up the living room that has been occupied.

I carry all the bedding upstairs.

The kids help me, but it's incredibly exhausting.

Every single day, it's like this.
I want to laugh it off.
But
right now, I just can't.

I pick up the clothespins scattered on the floor.

At that moment, the hair I had tucked behind my ear falls and brushes against my cheek.

For some reason, I feel like crying.

Oh, come on, seriously?
The 'wave of instability' is already hitting me too.

My son

"Are you tired?"

he asked.

I couldn't help it, so I hugged my son.

"I'm sorry I've been so busy getting angry and crying, Mom," I said.

When I said that, my son nodded, and without saying a word, he gave me a gentle smile.

Starting next week, the free school and kindergarten will be in full swing.

It seems that a 'wave of instability' has arrived early for both my son and me.

To my son:
Even if the two of us are swallowed by the rough waves, let's hold hands and make it to the other shore!

And I, your mother, will write that story on note and turn it into a laugh, asking, 'What are you talking about?'

My son's summer vacation is almost over.
The battle of 'I'm going' versus 'I'm not going' and the daily routine of accompanying him are coming back.