Do you ever have those days? The ones where your kid just gets under your skin, and you can’t pinpoint exactly why? I had one of those. They wouldn’t. Stop. Moving. The new thing that entertains both of my kids is making tents and forts out of blankets and their small couches. It does keep them busy, but the older one spent naptime creating, re-creating, and fidgeting that I found myself yelling at them to stop moving. Nothing more specific, just seriously, stop moving.
I don’t know why I let it get under my skin. My husband even turned to me at one point and said, “You’re talking to a 4-year old.” I told him not to discipline me in front of the kids, but honestly, he was right. Why do I let my kids bug me with little things they do? I gave up any hope of true quiet time when I had kids. So why is it that I can’t tune them out when I need to? Like today, when my eldest continued to rustle around and not get comfortable and I cringed the entire time. (And shouted a few times, too, hence my husband’s comment.)
I’m not expecting perfection. I know that there will be days where we will barely make it out alive because there will be a series of events that are out of our control, or in our control but we can’t avoid it. But short of walking away and hiding aka locking myself in the bathroom, I don’t know how to avoid freaking my shit on my kids when they are being true assholes. And is it wrong of me to even think that my kids are acting like assholes? Am I overreacting, as my husband suggests? Or are my kids really being that annoying, and I just have to deal with it?
My sisters and I always text each other what we are up to, what’s happening with our kids, and often, how annoying our kids are being. Whether it’s how they are getting in our faces or each other’s, throwing tantrums, or the fact that we have to drive them around to practice/friends/school, they have that effect on us I suppose. Are we just more hypersensitive to it for some reason? Hormones, maybe? Am I expecting too much from them?
Honestly, I don’t have a freaking clue. I just know that they were annoying, I couldn’t wait for bedtime, and it was about 5 o’clock (somewhere, maybe not here) that I poured myself a glass of wine. Does that make me a bad mom? No. It makes me an honest mom. Can’t argue with that.