Last night I think my head might have spun around on my shoulders and I just *might* have birthed a few aliens from my throat. I was THAT MAD.
A brand-new pair of swim goggles had gone missing: a mere 48 hours after purchase. A mere 24 hours after being the subject of a long lecture on the value of said goggles, and how important it would be to keep track of them the whole swim season.
As I demanded to know where they might possibly be, I was met with blank stares. I huffed. I puffed. And I BLEW the house... no wait, wrong story. But I did huff and puff, and ask the stupidest question that a parent ever asks: "WHY?!?!?"
But wait - this time my eldest was ready with an answer.
Because, Mommy. I lost them because I'm seven and half, and that means that I'm almost eight. You see, seven year olds are lovely children, really sweet and good at not losing things. But eight year olds are dreadful, Mommy. And that's why I lost them.
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Some days are better than others, in this parenting gig. Some days I'm able to snort with laughter about the comments like that. Other days, I hit the wall at 7.30pm and literally count minutes until I can be alone. Until I can stop being everything to them. Until I can sit quietly and try to think sane thoughts.
I'm guest posting about one of those nights over at my friend Cheryl's blog Special Sauce in the House today. Click on over, show her some love, and read about my Crazy Eight Card.
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3 comments:
Oh my goodness Kirsten, that is an amazing explanation for the loss of those goggles. I think I am going to need to smarten up before my daughter gets much older as I would have been struck dumb at those words, or else would be trying very hard not to laugh. I loved your post over at Cheryl's site today by the way, just beautifully written.
Hey, I got me one of those seven and a half going on eighters myself, and boy does he run rings around me in the logic department. I keep saying "future lawyer" out loud ("or future con man" under my breath).
my 16 month old daughter goes to sleep at 8. Sundays are usually the days I hit my block. At around 5. And my husband takes her for a little while or we finally get her to take a nap.
Then I take an hour to breathe and be sane, but it comes again.
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