Interference

I had grand plans to tell you about my classes, how much I’m enjoying the scenery on the UMass campus this fall, this great little beaver pond/swamp that I drive past everyday and about Aurelia’s open house at school on Tuesday.

But my children have managed to thoroughly piss me off this evening and I’m too angry to do anything else but this right now. Just the act of typing is keeping me from yelling at the top of my lungs. I won’t go into sordid details but this is the third day of an upward curve of awful behavior for which they have already been punished and reprimanded and have given their promises of better behavior just to wait for me to turn my back and repeat what they were just punished for.

My children will not see a television for more than a month. Not that they see much more than an hour a day to begin with. There will be no chapters at bedtime for a week, poor Dorothy will be stuck in Oz for another 7 days.

I’m not sure what started it or if it’s finished its run. I do know that my husband, being a good man and helping some friends to pack up their entire life to move halfway across the state, not being home in the evenings is a contributing factor. I know that the hot weather this week made the girls cranky but no such problems today. Maybe neither of them slept well in the heat and humidity, maybe they are tired. I don’t know.

I do know that I am entirely relieved to know that I will not be anywhere near my children for more than 8 hours tomorrow and even when I do get home my husband will be there too. Tomorrow I am taking the Lapland Hand Garments: The Mittens From Rovaniemi at Webs with Susanna Hansson. Yes, the same woman and the same class that The Harlot took in Feb. I am fairly excited.

Ok deep breaths, girls are in their jammies, quietly playing in their room. I’m going to get them in bed and try to get the second Alpaca Sox sweetpea sock’s heel turned. I’ll try to post tomorrow what I would have given you today.

My MIL keeps telling me that this parenting thing doesn’t get easier, it just gets different as the kids grow. Anybody want to lie to me and tell me that it totally gets easier?

     *My Mil called and has added and addendum: 

      If you do your best, it won’t get any worse.

From a woman who raised my husband and his two brothers…sage wisdom. 

Toots

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