Long day...

This was the last blog post I wrote-  back in the spring of 2011.  I never published it.  But it was kind of funny, two years later, so I'm going to publish it now.  I hope ALL of these dramatic days will be as mildly amusing as this one, someday...





I'm writing this first part before throwing in the towel and going to bed.  I'm really, really, REALLY hoping that I'll wake up tomorrow and laugh at this. Or at least have some wisdom and perspective after a good night's sleep.

I pretty much spent all day being yelled at by kids.

That was my day.

Okay, some of the kids weren't yelling.  Just calling my name and asking for a tissue or to be line leader or if it was their turn or why the computer bit the dust again or for someone to take them to the bathroom.  Those were other people's kids.  I took care of them and then sent them home to someone else.

And then, at my home... that's where there was yelling.

Actually, first I went to the dentist. So, no yelling.  But a lot of drilling and that crazy-annoying suction thing that pinches your tongue and the back of your throat.  Oh- and waiting in a super-cold room with no great waiting room magazines and nothing but fox news on the television.  If it weren't for the gas, I never would have made it.

Then I came home and tried to get a little housework done before my family got home.  I painted.  I tackled the box in the back of my closet that started collecting (years ago, according to its contents) all of the junk that had no other home.  Am I the only one with a box like that?

When the kids came home and I reminded Big Sister she had dance, she lost her leotard-wearing mind. I think it was mostly hunger, but she and her sister have both had a very hard time with self-control lately.

This was evidenced by Little Sister's Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde moment on the way to get Big Sis after her dance class.  One minute she was singing sweetly, telling me about the "mean girls who tore Cinderella's dress" and how the "Bibby-bobby-bow lady gave her a new one."  The next, we pulled into the parking lot and she started screaming for me to turn around and leave her sister there.  She wanted me to unbuckle her and let her out so she could "run away."  She wouldn't wear shoes, and I had to wrestle a messy ponytail in her hair to walk in and get Big Sis without looking like she log-rolled all the way from our house to the studio.  The dance teacher gave both girls M&Ms, but Little Sister got mad that I didn't buckle the car seat precisely the way she wanted it done (we're pretty sure she has OCD) and threw them on the floor.  We rode all the way home listening to screams of "PICK THEM UP!" and  "UNBUCKLE ME AT THE STOPLIGHT!" and "I'M TRYING TO REACH THEM WITH MY FEET!" and, of course, "I DON'T LIKE YOU!"

When we finally got home (the ride seemed endless) Little Sis did not want to get out of the car or pick up her candy, but she finally started picking up the M&Ms (did I mention they're the mini kind?) one at a time.  We were making slow but steady progress when Big Sister came outside and started running big circles around the van, the yard, and us.  She had to use the bathroom, and it was an emergency.  I reminded her than she has been going to the bathroom by herself for almost 3 years now, and sent her back inside.  A few more seconds passed and she came out again, even more urgently.  She said she didn't know how to take off her leotard and tights, and I quickly showed her that it is just like taking off a swimsuit or dress-up tutu (both of which she wears- and removes- often).  I also explained that I couldn't leave Little Sister alone in the driveway, picking candy out of the car.

I thought Big Sister had gone inside and figured everything out.  But then she came out again, doing the pee dance.  And before I could do anything other than fuss, "JUST TRY TO TAKE IT OFF! YOU'RE WASTING MUCH MORE TIME COMING OUT HERE!" she peed.  On the porch. And stood there in it, lifting up the little dance skirt and looking down at the growing puddle.

Seriously?  I rushed Little Sis in, banished Big Sister to the bathroom to get cleaned up, grabbed the watering can and tried to wash away the pee puddle, and tried not to cry. Or kick anything.

We came in and had a snack; Little Sis repeated her new mealtime mantra: "I only like candy and kool-aide and cantaloupe. I don't like food." Attempting to get her to eat anything else was futile. Bedtime provided even more battles and even more heel-digging.  I feel more like a general than a mom, planning strategy and which battles to fight and which to let go in order to still win the war with no casualties.  I'm not really a war person.  And it is wearing me out.