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Browsing Tag: frustration

Point Made

A Facebook friend shared today a blog post she’d seen.  It’s called “To the Mother with Only One Child,” by Simcha Fisher, and it’s just…it’s so…it’s really…well, I dare you to read it only once, and I double dog dare you to read it, then be able to go about your day without sitting quietly in your seat for a few moments first, solemnly contemplating what you’d just read.  To any parent–any mother, especially–it’s really quite a reality check. I’ll give you a moment to go read it, then come back to me. Still waiting. Oh, good you’re back.  Pretty moving stuff, right?  And for me, it strikes at a place that’s just a little too close to home.  I’ve written what feels like countless virtual pages about how tough it was to make the transition to staying at home, how tired I am of doing all the flipping laundry all day long while my husband goes out for sushi at lunch with his co-workers…

This is What Overcaffeinated Looks Like

I’ve had it.  Had it, had it, had it.  I just looked over my blog post from Wednesday, and all I can think is blah blah blah blah prbphhhhh.  Oh, staying at home is so awesome, I said.  Even when it’s rough, it’s still so cool, yeah, I said.  Ha, ha, David, you have to go to work while I get to stay home with whining children all day, I said. I am full of shit. Sorry, Mom.  Don’t read that last curse word.  You, too, former student of mine I used to reprimand for swearing (but that was in class, so yes, you shouldn’t have said that word, and no, you shouldn’t have carved it into the desk).   But seriously, I’m done.  I quit.  You know what I want?  I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want (remember this? It’s so terrible it’s delightful:). I want to wear heels, on a regular basis.  That sounds so absolutely superficial and ridiculous, but you carry yourself differently when you’re in heels.  There’s a bit…

Saving Up for Her Therapy Now

I made my daughter cry today.  I raised my voice at my 3-year-old Saoirse (some would say yelled), at close proximity, at a decibel sustained for entirely too long, and made her cry.  I shouldn’t have yelled at her.  There was no reason to get that angry. We’d just gotten back from the grocery store.  It’d started out as a good day.  SK had her swim lesson this morning, and we were flying high on the pride that comes from swimming on your own, without help, for a whopping three seconds without drowning (Going into swim lessons, I heard:  “I loooove Coach Mike!”  Leaving swim lessons:  “I don’t liiike going underwater.  Let’s not do that again.”).  We desperately needed some kid-appropriate food in the house (you know, fresh fruit, yogurt, lollipops), so I decided to hedge my bets and duck into the store while the girls were in a good mood.  We grabbed an early lunch at the in-store cafe, and I figured that a full belly should hold the kids off for the hour (I was feeling optimistic) I needed. But…