Cranky McWhinesalot Strikes Again (Yep, I’m Talking about Me)
What a day. I don’t get kids–even if they have half my DNA. I used to joke that there’s not much of a difference between toddlers and the teenagers I used to teach: they’re moody. One minute they need you, and the next they’re telling you to go to hell (well, SK hasn’t learned to say that exactly, thank goodness, but we definitely get the drift now and then…). They cry on a dime, and occasionally scream for absolutely no reason. They slam doors. And just when you think that you’re about to lose your sanity–that tense moment where you honestly wonder who came in and swapped your child out for her evil twin–all of a sudden the tension melts. Evil twin leaves, and your little doll is back. She gives you a big kiss on the cheek and a hug around the knee, and the next thing you know you’re dancing around the living room together, giggling over a funny move. So, what is it? Growing pains? A struggle to assert their individuality? Or just lack of sleep and disgust that we’re having pb & j again for lunch?