Unfortunately, I believe I have been a bit of a beast to my family.
Today W, my seven-year-old, attacked me at the door when I came home because he couldn't wait for me to read his book report, which he'd finished in one day. Clearly he'd been working intently on it. I sat down to read it, and the first words out of my mouth were: Okay, you guess.
"Wow, honey, what a terrific job you've done!" Nope, wrong.
"This is very well-written. I can't believe you did all this in one afternoon!" I wish.
No, the first three thoughts came out of my mouth something like this:
"Does Popper's [the title of the book is Mr. Popper's Penguins] have an apostrophe in it? I think it does."
And then: "This part needs to be a complete sentence."
And finally: "What word is this supposed to be? Check your spelling."
What a jerk of a mom, huh? And of course W did what any sensible seven-year-old would do. He ripped it out of my hands and ran to his room, shouting "No one gets to read this EVER AGAIN!"
In case you were wondering, by the way:
- I felt horrible.
- I tried to apologize, several times.
- He did not forgive me, and in fact started to tear up every time I tried to apologize.
- I still haven't read the rest of it, because he hid it from me.
Fatigue? Partly. Distraction? Partly. Feelings of being overwhelmed, overcommitted, overloaded? A bit. Lack of exercise, yes. Lack of girl time, yes, although I'm trying to protect that by convincing friends to come meet me for lunch.
I think I need to start meditating on all the positive things this change in my life is bringing me. Intellectual gratification. Free lunch on Mondays and Wednesdays. A paycheck. The opportunity to learn new skills and hone existing ones. New friends. New habits. And, if I meditate on these things long enough, a new attitude, I hope.