Thursday, September 6, 2012

A Little Spit Shine

I envisioned my triumphant return to the keyboard happening under a different set of circumstances. It'd be me basically saying that life has been so fabulous finding the time to sit and write about it was just too much to ask for. The jet setting. The parties. The hobnobbing.

Instead I find myself a wee bit pissed off and unlike times past I thought, "Why don't you just blog it out?" It's basically me talking to myself. Freeing myself of whatever garbage has piled up or on the flip side sharing the happy, funny & so on and so forth. On a side note, someone asked me yesterday if I was still blogging. It kind of caught me off guard but gave me even more of a push to make myself sit here and say you know what I'm having a shitty day. I think it can be more accurately described as a period of shit-tastic-ness.

Living the glamorous life of a stay-at-home mom means that I live, eat and breathe my daughter, which conviently means eight [or so] times out of ten the reason I'm irritated in someway involves her [either directly or indirectly]. Today my mother was in charge of dropping and picking Elle up from preschool. I sent her text inquiring how drop off went, pretty much holding my breath that it went smoothly. Fortunately for all involved it did. Fast forward three hours and it's pick up time and the report back was "very embarassing picking Elle up..."
Insert an expletive or two on my end along with a tear or two or three of frustation and their you have it.

Elle is rounding the corner to her third birthday. She's not a demon baby. She's got quite a bit of spunk. A temper. She's bossy. Likes things done her way. And for those who know me I just described myself. Guess that's where the phrase "mini-me" came from, huh? She didn't come with instructions. I have no idea what I'm doing. I take that back I'm figuring it out as I go. I don't beat her. I have enforced a time out or two. We've had more "mini discussions" regarding her bad decision making skills than I can count. She's one smart tough cookie! She knows how she can act with who. She knows when she's done something wrong because she starts chirping that she's sorry. That in of itself shows intelligence. Tears come with the territory. She cries for any and every reason most of which tears aren't warranted but you try telling her that. It doesn't phase me. If we're out and she asks for something and the answer is no, which by the way rarely is then the waterworks ensue. Do I like it? No. Who wants to be the parent with the kid who's crying and screaming? Uh, no one! But it happens. I say stare or look away and tell yourself under your breathe that'll never be me. Which PS is a lie. It will be. But when it comes to my mother it's embarassing. She's claimed recently to not be phased by it but I know that if she could run away or pretend to not know us she would. I'm not offended at least not when I'm there to do the mothering. I haven't quite mastered being able to do that when I'm not there, like this afternoon.

To add insult to injury she throws in "if she's acting this way how does she behave in class?" All I could think was "did you really just say that?"
How about we go back and see how you behaved at this age. See that's the problem it's been what 1912 since she had little ones & she didn't play the role of disciplinarian. I'm judge, jury and treat giver. I have yet to actually hear the details of the horror that was the afternoon pick up. I'm sure we'll sit down and have a discussion what it will resolve exactly I have no idea. We mother different. We know this already. I'll listen with one ear open just in case. However, I did e-mail Elle's teacher just as a precaution. I assume that Elle's behavior isn't anything out of the ordinary. Tears. Not sharing. Having to repeat yourself. All seem par for the course. I am very curious to hear what she has to say. I promise to take it with an open mind and heart. Neither of which are easy but whatever needs to addressed should be so that we can continue to be a part of the preschool. She's got two years left and mom needs the three hour break!

Holy crap, I feel better! Nothing a little venting can't fix...


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