I’m thinking that is in the Bible somewhere. Probably near the reference about the poor being with you always.
I get to the end of the day and my nerves are frayed. Stuff, work and more stuff. Filled with countless interruptions, temper tantrums [some of which are mine], poking, pestering, and whining.
My nerves are frayed. I’m yelling too much. I shouldn’t yell at all [from anger]. Jesus help me. I hate setting a bad example for my kids. Of course I also hate it when you ask for something simple like go get your shoes on and the six year old walks off to play. Or flat out doesn’t listen to given instructions for math work. Time to put on some Norah Jones. She is very calming.
My ability to parent well seems to go in cycles. I feel like I do okay for a while. Like I’m treading water, but I’m making it. Then a string of events will happen. It will either be the children [seemingly as a group?] entering into a trying period. This is when I’d swear they are like the chickens on Chicken Run [the movie] with a list of things they are going to do, just one time only so as to stir up plenty of trouble without actually providing cause for being “in” trouble.
Or, if the kids are fine sometimes a string of mothering opinions [from others] gets to me and I feel that I must comply or I’m not measuring up.
Yes, I realize this particular blog is fairly personal. Jesus help me, I can’t turn the Norah Jones up loud enough. I think maybe the kids are possesed. It takes the six year old an hour to get two pages of math work done. No, the work isn’t over her head and yes she has the aptitude for it.
I’m thinking I am going to set a timer for how often Jessie goes into a tantrum [this is a sliding scale for a cry that lasts anywhere from 5 seconds to several minutes cry for one reason or another. I’m betting is about every 60 seconds is how often I hear from her for one negative reason or another.
I can actually visualize myself sitting on the front porch smoking a cigarette waiting for my husband to get home. And I actually haven’t the slightest desire for a cigarette.