Well, Hi there! Yes it *has* been a while. What have I been up to, you ask?
There is so much to talk about, but none of it is anything I want to talk about.
Let me ‘splain. There is too much. Let me sum up. (in my best Inigo Montoya voice)
We are moving. Out of necessity, not desire. We didn’t find a bigger, better house, we had to find a smaller, cheaper house. NOT a happy time, very very stressful.
On Monday, my Mother-in-law had a heart attack. Early Tuesday morning, she had another (Thank God she was already in the hospital). I *Heart* my Mother in-law. No, really. She’s awesome! I wish she had taught her son to clean up after himself, but other than that, she’s a wonderful lady.
I’m so stressed out and I know I’m taking it out on the kids. Mostly Maggie as she’s the bigger of the two. I’ve yelled at her almost every day this week. This morning was the worst. We had come downstairs & I asked her to put her socks and shoes on while I packed the lunches. 20 minutes later, she is still barefoot. After I told her to PUT HER DAMNED SOX & SHOES ON, she finally tore herself away from morning cartoons and complied. While I was busy trying to wrangle Will into his coat, Maggie casually tells me that she “broke her coat”. My Mom got her a gorgeous Rothchild’s winter coat for Christmas. She was twisting the zipper pull and snapped the pull off the zipper thingy.
Look there, on the dining room floor. See that piece of straw? That’s the one.
I lost my ever-lovin’ mind. I was in her face, grabbed her by the front of her coat, SCREAMING, raw throat, face contorted, veins popping out, screaming how she is so irresponsible! That Me-Mom got her this beautiful coat & she broke it! She can’t have anything nice! She doesn’t take care of her toys, her room is always a mess, she can’t even follow simple instruction on putting!her!damn!shoes!on!!
Each one of these exclamation points was punctuated with a shake. Yep. I shook my kid. Not the violent shaken-baby-type-shake, but one of those point-making shakes. They’re not so bad, right? Every body does that, right? Don’t you? Oh. Please don’t call CYS on me, I don’t think I could take it.
Her big, gorgeous, blue eyes were wide with fear and then they welled up with tears. DUDE! There was fear in her eyes. I had scared her with my freaking out.
Needless to say, we were late this morning because I had to go back upstairs and fix my make-up after sitting on the dining room floor hugging and rocking my favorite little girl in the whole wide world and telling her over & over how sorry I was, how much I love her, that it wasn’t her fault, I know she didn’t do it on purpose, I’m the worst Mommy ever, I’ll see if I can fix the zipper thingy for her, etc.
I’m taking my frustration/stress/fear/anger that I should be accepting as my own and dealing with and I’m dropping them on her skinny little 4 year old shoulders. Yeah. I suck.