Just Another Day

You know the day before was a rough one when your first thought upon waking to a new day is, “Please don’t let me yell at her like a crazy person again today.”

But damn it.

I guess I just wish my youngest child could step outside her own head for a few minutes and see what her actions affect others.

But even if she could do this (she’s thirteen, even if she were typical, I think this would be hard for her) I don’t think it would apply to me. I’m mom. In her eyes, I’m really only there to serve her needs. I’m pretty sure she feels the same about her dad but he’s infinitely more patient than I am.

Or, maybe he’s just not as tired as I always am. See, he deals with the after school demands. I deal with nighttime and first thing in the morning demands.

And you know? She’s not that bad. It’s just…I get so beyond tired and frustrated and I just want things to be easier than they are. I wish things weren’t such a production sometimes.

I’ll announced, “We’re going to bed in five minutes.”

Five minutes later, I turn off the television and get up, stating, “I’m going to bed.”

Then the drama begins. “Wait!” she shriek, rushing to plug in her tablet, gather the crap she sleeps with (all kinds of insane, pointy shit that can’t possibly be comfortable to have in bed with you, but whatever, it’s her bed so…)

Then we brush her teeth and then we go upstairs and she has to pee and make sure the stupid toilet lid is closed.

Finally, she makes her way to her bed fifteen minutes after I’d turned off the television.

Then she has to move her pillows around and get situation. But last night, before she could get into bed, she had to run back downstairs to ‘look for something.’

She didn’t tell me what she was looking for. If she had, I’d have been able to save her ten minutes of searching and three minutes of yelling on my part. Sigh.

She finally came back upstairs empty handed after I’d yelled down that I was going to bed without her and she could tuck her own self in.

She screamed from the bottom of the stairs, “Mom! Wait!”

I was in my bed and she came in and stared at me. No words, just staring because obviously, I wasn’t going by the script.

I asked her what she’d been looking for downstairs.

“My sunglasses,” she confessed.

I rolled my eyes (because I’m a bitch) and said in stilted tones, “Go down the hall to your room, look in the purple bag that’s on the trunk at the end of the bed.”

She skedaddled down the hall and what do you know? She came back less than a minute later with two pairs of sunglasses to add to the pile of toys in her bed.

I asked her why she needed sunglasses since she was going to sleep. She shrugged because, duh, don’t ask stupid questions, Mom.

I got out of bed, made the turtles and Gub kiss her goodnight and then told her that Barbie was too tired to sing that night and to just go to sleep.

Yes, please do be polishing up my Mother of the Year award. I’ll collect it next week.

I sulked for a few minutes and then apologized to her. I told her I hoped tomorrow night would be smoother and that I hoped Barbie would feel like singing to her.

She asked me if I was still mad at her.

I sighed and told her I wasn’t.

She deserves so much better.

So today and tonight, I’m going to pretend to be better. Fake it till you make it, dude.