(For the record, I don't think Tyler's going to be a robber - Jace does. I see him more as a cool high school teacher and coach.)
OK, I'm hopefully not really causing that much mental anguish, but I kind of feel like I'm a total wreck and, therefore, not being a great mama. Last night I walked downstairs to look at the classroom, which I hadn't thought about in a week and a half. I blew. I yelled every one's name and scolded them for the mess and yelled at them to clean it up. I made myself very clear that anything that was in my way this morning when I came down to teach them would get put in a garbage bag and thrown into the garbage bin. Then I stomped upstairs immediately regretting the yelling, what I said, how I said it.
Our classroom is also our playroom. There are Legos (a lot of Legos) that are allowed to stay out and set up on a coffee table very near our classroom table. So, obviously, when not kept in check, the little Lego men expand their lands under the table and on the table and wherever else they can think of. It only makes sense. And Gracie likes to color and those materials are in a cart right next to the table too. So, again, when not kept in check, they'll get left on the table and dropped on the floor. I haven't been checking. The kids are 7, 5, and 3 years old...they haven't been caring. Of course the table is covered and the floor is covered. Of course.
Of freakin' course!
So I cried. I haven't been sleeping well, although not for lack of trying. I miss my husband more than I thought I would, which probably sounds bad, but honestly he hasn't been around much the last few months anyway, so I didn't think his not being around at all would hurt so much. That probably doesn't sound any better. Anyway, I'm also trying to kick the treats of the holidays and my old friend Mt. Dew to the curb and might be suffering from withdrawal. Whatever the reasons...I cried.
And Gracie came up from cleaning up the classroom and gave me a big hug, and apologized for frustrating me by not picking up her toys. The first thing that came to mind was the fact that abused women often apologize to their abusers for 'making them' so angry. That's when I thought that it may not always be the mom, but in our case it might be.
And, while I sit here writing this, Tyler is sitting next to me counting the letters on my shirt. (I didn't know he could count to six!) And then he asked me what my t-shirt says.
That's the shirt...and when I read it to him? You guessed it - I cried! See? I'm a wreck! I don't feel super anything...except tired. That definitely describes me these days.
So, what's my point? I don't want to be the reason my kids seek therapy in the future, but I fear that life isn't always about what I want. Bummer, huh?