Monday, March 23, 2009

Peeing in a windstorm

Some days, raising my kids, I feel like I'm staring straight on into a windstorm and trying to pee without getting splattered.
No, it's not some weird hermaphrodite reference, but a metaphor for futility.
Most days, I'm bopping along with funny kids and an all right life.
Then a kid drops a steaming pile on my foot.
Literally. Punk did it last week. Right out of her diaper and onto my foot, then the floor. Splat!
Bug did it, again metaphorically, yesterday at my mom's, where he threw a screaming, hitting hissy fit because I wouldn't let him take two blocks home.
I didn't back down. I did get mad, which made me gla there were witnesses. And after I was done, The Man got mad.
The Man took our wayward oldest to the van while we all scurried to put up the toys and gather our belongings. In the car, Bug wanted to talk, and I hissed a response that involved zipping his lip, bath, bed, and I'd deal with him the next day.
He got it. Mom's mad. Duck and cover.
And then woke up this morning upset because I left before apologizing to him!
My son has some impressive gonads.
On break, I called home, and Bug apologized for hurting me. I'm still mad, but realize he has the attention span of a gnat and so I have to be the bigger person--not fatter!--and move on.
But my heart hurts. And I just want to know where my sweet boy went and why I am peeing against a tornado these days.

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