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Thursday, May 2, 2013

The uglier parts of kids.

Sometimes being a mom means holding yourself together until you’re out of sight from the kids and then you’re free to have your own meltdown.  Bring on the stomping, fisted hands and sometimes tears.  Admit it, I’m not alone in this. 

I’m there.  I’m there, and it’s ugly.  My patience has worn thin and each statement of defiance is threatening my sanity.  I’m butting heads with a two year old and there is no winning.  There is resistance around each corner and I’m running in circles trying to parent her appropriately while tending to the baby and taking care of all the household stuff.  So far I’m failing at everything. 

We hit a point this morning where I had to make a decision between an early nap or early lunch.  Molli was requesting lunch but everything in me wanted to send her and her little attitude to bed.  Molli, in a fit of tears after closing herself in the bathroom for five minutes screaming at me because I suggested she go potty: Pleeease mom, MACARONI! I just want luuunch.

At this point my plan was to feed them, run a couple quick errands, go to my parents house where they would have naps then play and all would be well.  By the end of lunch my eardrums were about to burst and I wanted to throw something.  NAP TIME.  Oh, but no.  I see the disaster that my (husband’s) daughter had made; Milk in the juice, and tiny orange noodles all over the freaking place. Seriously.  Macaroni in the hair, mashed into clothes, covering the tray and the floor…oh the floor.  The look on my face must have said enough because she started apologizing.

I don’t love messes, but I can usually handle them, however I cannot handle them when they are the final component of the triad of tantrums, exhaustion and messes. It was the perfect storm.  I demanded that she clean her mess, which sent her over the edge.  I left her with it so I could wrestle my (husband’s) screaming son into a clean diaper, which is apparently a form of baby torture.  When I came back, she was literally laying on top of the floor macaroni with the bowl on her face yelling about wanting to go to Grammy’s. 

Needless to say, she is in bed now, screaming at me about that.  But don’t worry, I’m keeping my back to the mess until she’s good and ready to clean. 


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