Remember how hard I was working this year to yell less at my kids?
It felt good and I won’t apologize about it.
The day started so promising. Ran two miles. Had two good cups of coffee from two different stores. Pleasant experience dealing with the bank over an ATM issue. Collection of appreciative birds eating at the feeder outside my office window. Me and Murphy met the Things at school and we walked home in the unusually warm early March sunlight. Thing 2 and I had our first game of catch for the year out in the front yard. I helped Thing 1 spend her birthday money (and then some) online on a decent first camera that – yes, sweetie -- is in the pink color you wanted.
Then around dinnertime all hell broke loose.
Someone’s touching someone else. Someone’s bothering me when I’m trying to do something. I can’t do this with that one here. I won’t leave because that one wants to do something here. She drooled on my special blanket! He pushed me in the stomach! But you said. But mom said. But blah blah blah.
I tried reasoning.
I tried sending them to their rooms.
Motherflucker, I tried enough.
Laws were laid down and consequences spelled out at Who-concert volume.
Lips curled. Tears fell.
Yet no one has said, “I’m sorry.”
Especially not me.
Not this time.
But, at last, all is calm again.
Parenting: Not for the faint of heart or the meek of voice.
(I’m still here. Just waiting for the guilt to kick in.)
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On a lighter note, I discuss the evil that is overpriced and overly complex highchairs on DadCentric.com this week. You’ll think better of me after you read that one.