grumpy and pouty

I’m seriously irritated right now. It’s just been one of those days; this morning I had to yell at the kids six bazillion times to get dressed, and to stop wrestling and to get dressed, and to put their socks on and to make their beds and to eat their breakfast and to keep their hands to themselves at the breakfast table, and to keep their joy to themselves and be a little quieter at the breakfast table, and seriously, be quiet and for the love of all that is good - keep your bloody hands to yourself!

Run on sentence. I know. Because today is one of those days that feels like one long run-on sentence of frustration.

I finally get the heathens into the van and off to school, where Tennyson insists that Jordan can walk him to his class and he doesn’t want me to come. On one hand this should make me happy, because walking all four kids through the crowded school to the deepest, darkest corner of the school where the kindergarten class is isn’t that much fun. On the other hand - why doesn’t he want me to come with him? Is it because I did all that yelling? Is it because I’m the worst mommy ever and he can’t wait to leave me in the parking lot? Is it because he’s really just not that into me?

It’s probably all of the above. I should just make peace with it, or maybe yell less. As it was I tried to feel a little sad about it. I almost got just a little teary and then it went away. This lead to more MommyGuilt because what children-loving-mother takes her kid to kindergarten and three school days in still hasn’t cried? It just might not happen.

Then the train (chain?) of consciousness started as I drove away that went a little something like this: Little sniffle, I’m just so sad. So sad my baby is in kindergarten. Okay, but really I’m really grumpy because the morning was shitty and those dang kids can’t ever muster up inside voices or table manners. Okay, so I really am sad that he’s going. Surely it’s not just that I’m a little thankful and relieved that they’re out of my personal space for a few hours because I’m having a crappy day and I was a crappy mom this morning and now I’m feeling all guilty because my five year old couldn’t wait to flee my presence and this is just more evidence that I really am a crappy person.

Doesn’t everybody try to cry a little when feeling remorse to prove to herself that she really is a good person because she regrets the shitty morning?

Of course.

Let’s not even get me started on the parking . . . Okay, I’ll save that for the next post. Happily I have pictures.

Diaper gym. Was pretty good! There were a couple of new families and seven of us oldies showed up. My daughter pinched and scratched me and then when I got mad at her she thought better of doing it again and pinched this other kid instead. Then I threw her in time out where she yelled go away at the top of her lungs each time another kid or parent wandered anywhere near her or glanced in her direction from anywhere in the room. She’s awesome. She was in time out twice today. The terrible twos are awesome.

What else? Right, the irritation builds. I leave diaper gym, pick up the five year old who acted a little bit happy to see me again and go home. I vacuum, after snapping at the kids to pick up their socks and throw this in the garbage and that in their rooms. I then make lunch for the kids and after they’re settled and eating I cut up lettuce, celery and leftover barbecued chicken and toss it all up with some ranch dressing and settle in to eat my salad. It was delicious. Nothing like chicken breast added to a salad to make lunch a happy place to be.

Then the boys ran away and Elliot decided she wanted out. I took her out of her chair and to the bathroom before putting her to bed. While I did that the boys got themselves ready to go back outside to play. As I left Elliot’s room I could hear some scuffling in the dining room.

I knew what it was before I got there.

The kids let the damn dog in on their way outside and he was munching on my salad. Deep breathing commences and I throw him back out into the yard. I examine my salad. If it wouldn’t have been for a few pieces of lettuce flicked off the edge of the plate I might not have even been sure that he had been in there. He vacated the plate before I got within eyesight of him.

There’s no way I can eat a salad with dog-lick on it. I’m not one of those people.

It’s adding to my irritation. I was going to do housework this afternoon, but now on top of being grumpy I’m also a little pouty. It’s like two of the dwarfs have taken up residence with the rest of my personalities.

I’ve got another dog story. Wait for it.