I love to play hide and seek with my kid, but some days my goal is to find a hiding place where she can’t find me until after high school. ~Author Unknown
…especially for the “older people” in the house.
Sweet Jesus my children can be such pains sometimes – stubborn, strong willed, loud, obnoxious, ungrateful, ill-mannered. I have no idea where they get it. I know that when my girls reach adulthood a few of these traits will serve them well because they sure as hell aren’t pushovers. We just all have to survive the process of getting them there.
Wednesday morning Molly, my 6-year-old, had a full-on, crazy screaming fit over the fact that she couldn’t find a pair of pants to wear to school that “felt good”. (She has this thing about how clothes feel. If they don’t feel good to her she won’t wear them, and no amount of cajoling can persuade her otherwise. Annoyingly, her definition of “feels good” is a moving target.) The pants were either the right fabric but the wrong fit (even though she’s worn these same pants numerous times in the past), or they were jeans but not skinny jeans, because if they aren’t skinny jeans they just feel too big, which in her mind is apparently akin to suffering through torture.
That morning’s shenanigans culminated with Molly dramatically screaming and carrying-on all the way out to the car and most of the way to school. Her hair and teeth were unbrushed, and her outfit consisted of a nightgown over pants and no shoes. But since getting them to school provides a few hours of much needed peace in my world, I told her through gritted teeth that I didn’t care what state of dress she was in, she was going to school, and that if she showed up in her pj’s, so be it. She would just have to explain to all of her friends that she was dressed that way because she was being completely uncooperative that morning. And I handed her a bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste and a hairbrush and told her she would have to take care of those things once she got to class as well.
I gave myself credit for only yelling at her and not pulling out the paddle upon which the words “Board of Education” were carefully written in my Dad’s script (the paddle was a gift from Dad a couple of years ago when he was trying to bring me on board with his old school parenting philosophy). I don’t use it but sometimes I REALLY want to.
I think my “Mom” gene is a little defective. I mean, I love my kids and all, but damn if they don’t occasionally make me want to lock myself in my room with a glass of wine, plugged into my iPod in order to drown out the ranting and the incessant banging on the door as I yell back, “Mommy just needs a time out right now!”
I swear, sometimes I want to go back to work just so I can do something that actually leaves me feeling successful because the “personal satisfaction” number for this past week’s stay-at-home-Mom thing was hovering somewhere in the neighborhood of Obama’s approval rating.