My momma always said there'd be days like these... but she never said weeks!
We have lately had a rough patch at our house. My children have decided to push every single limit, button, and bit of patience each and every chance they can get. Which, sadly, is ALL THE TIME. They play off one another and if one is in a mood, it is game on. And this game is in overtime. Someone needs to score, put the other side in their place, and end this. Before someone really gets hurt. And Momma starts hitting the bottle at 10am... on a Tuesday.
"She was perfect! Zoe is a model student!"
"We are so lucky to have Zoe in our play group! I'm going to borrow her to help me at home with my kids behavior! She is a role model!"
"Could she be a nicer kid?"
Now, these comments would usually send me over the moon in mommy pride induced ecstasy, but not Monday. I heard all three of these comments within four hours and it made my blood boil. Really. I was seeing red.
While I adore my daughter, I adore the opinions of my friends, and I adore the fact that Mr. and I are doing something right that she knows how to perform like a circus monkey outside of the home, I do not adore that I never get to see that Zoe. I see another one and a lot of the time, she isn't pretty.
"That is MY SPOT. MYYYYYYYY SSSSSSPPPPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTT!"
White blond hair (with a gorgeous pink bow) flies in the hair with her body coming fast behind her. Thank God her purple painted toes were not hidden in shoes, as they were weaponry enough in her Gymboree bow socks. The parts I could see from the kitchen (over the couch arms) were pretty and precious. But, her flying jab and stinging upper cut to her confused baby brother were anything but precious. After pulling a sweaty, kicking Laila-Ali wanna-be off Xander, and tossing her into the dining room (to have the French doors kicked closed and swearing - swearing if one glass panel does more than shimmy in it's spot I will have to be locked in a room with a warm bath and People to calm down), I learned that X was attacked because he chose to watch Caillou on the left side of the couch, which apparently four hours earlier Zoe had deemed "MY SPOT". And come Hell or high water, it would be her spot.
Try later that day when Xander was told (for the fiftieth time that hour) that he couldn't play with her dolls - "Get your own, X! Oh, wait. You don't have dolls. You just have William. One doll. So you cannot play a tea party with lots of dolls. Just one. Boring. A baby tea party with boys." he simply pulled off his diaper and started peeing. All over the tea party. It was now a lemonade party, based on what was collecting in the china, but he had fantastic coverage. She sat there and screamed but didn't know what to do. I demanded she close her mouth - this lemonade was sure to be sour - but she just stood up and screamed louder.
Still then, later that same day. SAME DAY. They were slamming the doors to their Jack n' Jill bathroom so hard it knocked a picture off the wall downstairs. I let this all happen because I was locked in the garage when I was unloading groceries and they thought this would be a fun experiment.
It has been one thing after another. Every day, all day. No days feel "easy" anymore.
Does anyone else just feel like they are raising really bad kids only to hear from others they are really good kids? I feel like I'm raising Cybil...
We have lately had a rough patch at our house. My children have decided to push every single limit, button, and bit of patience each and every chance they can get. Which, sadly, is ALL THE TIME. They play off one another and if one is in a mood, it is game on. And this game is in overtime. Someone needs to score, put the other side in their place, and end this. Before someone really gets hurt. And Momma starts hitting the bottle at 10am... on a Tuesday.
"She was perfect! Zoe is a model student!"
"We are so lucky to have Zoe in our play group! I'm going to borrow her to help me at home with my kids behavior! She is a role model!"
"Could she be a nicer kid?"
Now, these comments would usually send me over the moon in mommy pride induced ecstasy, but not Monday. I heard all three of these comments within four hours and it made my blood boil. Really. I was seeing red.
While I adore my daughter, I adore the opinions of my friends, and I adore the fact that Mr. and I are doing something right that she knows how to perform like a circus monkey outside of the home, I do not adore that I never get to see that Zoe. I see another one and a lot of the time, she isn't pretty.
"That is MY SPOT. MYYYYYYYY SSSSSSPPPPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTT!"
White blond hair (with a gorgeous pink bow) flies in the hair with her body coming fast behind her. Thank God her purple painted toes were not hidden in shoes, as they were weaponry enough in her Gymboree bow socks. The parts I could see from the kitchen (over the couch arms) were pretty and precious. But, her flying jab and stinging upper cut to her confused baby brother were anything but precious. After pulling a sweaty, kicking Laila-Ali wanna-be off Xander, and tossing her into the dining room (to have the French doors kicked closed and swearing - swearing if one glass panel does more than shimmy in it's spot I will have to be locked in a room with a warm bath and People to calm down), I learned that X was attacked because he chose to watch Caillou on the left side of the couch, which apparently four hours earlier Zoe had deemed "MY SPOT". And come Hell or high water, it would be her spot.
Try later that day when Xander was told (for the fiftieth time that hour) that he couldn't play with her dolls - "Get your own, X! Oh, wait. You don't have dolls. You just have William. One doll. So you cannot play a tea party with lots of dolls. Just one. Boring. A baby tea party with boys." he simply pulled off his diaper and started peeing. All over the tea party. It was now a lemonade party, based on what was collecting in the china, but he had fantastic coverage. She sat there and screamed but didn't know what to do. I demanded she close her mouth - this lemonade was sure to be sour - but she just stood up and screamed louder.
Still then, later that same day. SAME DAY. They were slamming the doors to their Jack n' Jill bathroom so hard it knocked a picture off the wall downstairs. I let this all happen because I was locked in the garage when I was unloading groceries and they thought this would be a fun experiment.
It has been one thing after another. Every day, all day. No days feel "easy" anymore.
Does anyone else just feel like they are raising really bad kids only to hear from others they are really good kids? I feel like I'm raising Cybil...
No comments:
Post a Comment