Have you ever had one of those days. You could draw the chart of your frustration and it would look like the climbing of Mt. Everest, a couple of moments where you were able to regain your position, only to lose it again.
That has totally been my morning. I’m not sure it’s recoverable at this point.
It is such a gorgeous day! I am so excited because we could go to the park without worrying about the air quality or about overheating. High of 87º. Gorgeous.
Only Tom wakes up to tell me he had been up working until 2 AM, which makes me extremely guilty because I’ve GOT to go to the toilet and the kids are SCREAMING, an hour earlier than they normally wake up.
And then the coffee machine hadn’t been cleaned yesterday (which reminds me, I should take care of that now…done). Then the boy’s throwing things. Tom leaves, late, and baby wakes up from her nap almost at the same time, which is about two hours earlier than normal, having gone back to sleep earlier than she should. The boy isn’t turning around when I say his name and counting to three (my last-resort method) isn’t working AT ALL.
He FINALLY sits on the potty and poops. Everything seems right in the world.
But then we get to the sunscreen. Baby and I have it on, but he’s running around the house. I grab him, throw him over my shoulder, and head back to his room with the sunscreen. And step on my Ergo. On the buckle. With my heel. So, yeah, that’s dead. I can’t imagine life without it. I can’t even imagine the rest of the day without it. Chasing the boy over all terrains while pushing a stroller? Ain’t gonna do it.
Also, this is the fourth Special Thing of mine he’s caused to be broken this week (yes, it was my fault, I stepped on it, and I put it in a place where he could throw it on the floor, but y’know how these thoughts go). The first being a really fantastic Art Deco evening bag I bought before I was married.
I put the boy in his room and tell him I need a time out. Not for him, he can play, I just need to calm down. Baby and I investigate the damage. It’s not going to work. Okay. I’ll make do. We’ll figure it out as we walk. Usually the boy listens and won’t run off too far (as long as he’s on the sidewalk and in sight he’s allowed to walk ahead or down the paths in the parks we walk by, LARGE sidewalks, I just don’t like being outside the running distance of him stepping into traffic, which he CERTAINLY seems to understand). So we’ll be fine.
But then, there’s that Noise. I can’t describe the Noise. It’s something he does with his tongue or his lips or something. It’s almost silent. But it’s there. And it means he’s pooping. No problem, potty is easy to clean out. Only…he’s NOT…on the potty.
“I pooped Mommy.”
“In the potty, sweatheart?”
“Nope.”
“Where?”
“In me pants.” He gives me a sheepish grin, where did he learn that?
I’m gripped.
Back into the living room. It’s been awhile since I’ve needed to clean underpants, and it’s a LOT worse than cloth diapers. Regrouping. I’ve been operating with a low patience supply this week. A combination of lack of sleep, missing my family, being frustrated with The Man for forgetting both Mother’s Day and my birthday. I hold a grudge. I know that’s bad. Admitting these things to myself as I try to let go of my anger at the boy for not using the potty. I mean, it was RIGHT THERE!
Okay, back in. Only, well, let’s just say this isn’t going to be easy to clean up. So. Shower.
And I feel awful about this, because the boy hates the shower. I’m hugging him tight and trying to pull off the underwear. He’s doing really well. Water temperature is great, we’re clean, excellent. Put him down. And he runs off.
This is when I realize we’re not going to the park. But, even being as gorgeous as it is, this is more calming than anything else I could think of.
We settle down, and all play with the Little People. We’re having fun. Then he punches me full on in the face.
“Lunchtime,” I declare.
“Naptime,” I decide, immediately following quite a few too many minutes of heated debate concerning the slicing of sandwiches which may or may not have had too much peanut butter and too little jelly depending on who you choose to believe.
And here the peak is in view. I know it. I’m trying to get out of here. There’s been too much yelling and whining from the boy; he’s been running out the apartment door when I’m not looking, into the hall; he’s been opening the patio door when I’m feeding Evie in the other room, which scares the shit out of me because I’m afraid he’ll get hurt. I can’t take this much today. These are rules he doesn’t normally break.
But here’s the baby. Sweet, little, quiet baby. Suddenly she’s screaming with a bad diaper rash from a poop I HEARD come out as we walked into the room, brand new poop. She’s in SO much pain, and I can’t get her to stop crying, even after I give up cleaning her up. Even after I try to feed her. Even after I give her my iPod with Sesame Street playing, which was so novel I thought for sure it would work. The faint buzzing in my ear as I try to help her is the boy, who finally comes over and steals the iPod, just as baby is beginning to calm. He’s STILL telling me he wants it.
“SHUT UP!” I screamed at him. And I know I was able to perfectly channel my father by the look of absolute terror in his eyes, which mirrored the emotions I feel whenever anyone is mad at me. He sat himself down on the couch and waited for me to come over.
I have never been that loud. I have told myself I would never tell my kids to shut up. I have listened to him prattle on and ask the same question over and over again for weeks and not said it. I have told myself I wouldn’t scare my kids into submission. I know we tell ourselves these things we will not do (let our kids watch too much TV, eat candy, etc.), but this isn’t the same. This isn’t “bad parenting” that you should avoid. To me this is Terrible Parenting.
Please tell me it isn’t just me. Tell me you sometimes yell at your kids things you regret. Tell me that it isn’t my upbringing coming out and that I can learn to control my first impulse, which is to scream at the things making me angry. Tell me we can come back down from this.
