So we've been home from NY for like two days now, and my daughter knows exactly how to test limits with me in a way that not only makes me miss my family just because I DO miss my family - - but in a way that makes me wish being there with my family because they're a great buffer for the windows of time we have together.
Is that horrible of me?
I love spending time with my child. I do. I truly do.
But some days -- like today most especially (as I write this it is Tuesday. I will post it on Wednesday).
But she pushes my buttons like nobody else. She tests limits that she knows I have set for her. For us. For our family and our home.
And yes. I know that she is four years old. And really, what can one expect from a four-year-old, exactly?
Oh, I don't know. Maybe the sense to leave me alone for a minute when I ask her to STOP BLOWING BUBBLES AT MY HEAD. ESPECIALLY WHILE I AM ON THE COMPUTER.
Any guesses as to when that happened? *If you said right this second you'd be a winner. But I have no prize. Honestly, the caplock was a dead giveaway, right?*
So I'm tired. And I'm twitchy. And I just want a few minutes alone.
And yeah, sometimes I think to myself it would make sense to pop her into preschool right about now. And I'd love to, but spending that money while I sit home on my behind just doesn't make that much sense. For me. For us. But I should look into something. There has to be something that can give us that perfect balance of time together and time apart.
That perfect frame of our day where I don't find myself saying something like, SERIOUSLY? Again with the scissors and random paper pilings all over the living room floor?
Small things set me off. But alas, I am only human. I am a mother. A good one. But I'm also entitled to moments of bad mommy mode. When I just want to lock myself in the bathroom with a good book or a trashy magazine filled with celebrity gossip, or hide out in the kitchen with a piece or two or ten of chocolate. Which reminds me, my husband picked up some Dove bars on his way home last night. I hid them in the fridge. How could I forget?
Hang on chocolate treats, Mama's coming!
p.s. Please remind me to find a place to hide that awful baby doll stroller that used to live in the garage until she saw it. Because not only does the sound of the thing on the hardwoods drive me to want to drink but Dexter, our dog? Hates that friggin thing with a passion only puppies in their mid-60s could have.