Not My Finest Hour(s) Apparently
While driving home from Hip(pity) Hop Class, Child #2 wanted to know why I “curse so much.” I was somewhat surprised — didn’t think I was THAT big of a potty mouth, but….So I asked her, “What do you mean?”
She reminded me of a day, several weeks ago, when #4 threw some kind of garbage on the floor, or on the table, or somewhere, and when I pointed it out he walked over and sort of threw it at me. To which I apparently responded, “Are you high?” Not my finest hour, I admit. So I denied saying it, but #2 insists that I did. (But thinking back, I imagine that I said it in order to release a bit of the pressure that was building in my head, so as not to throttle #4 into unconsciousness.)
At any rate, #2 and I had a short conversation wherein I pled guilty and asked for empathy (and/or sympathy. Can’t keep them straight). I suggested that I was very tired of being tag-teamed, 4 against 1, and that I didn’t know how to cope, I guess. She concurred: “Yeah, you seem like you’ve had a short fuse lately.”
Ah, super. Out of the mouths of babes, and all that.
Serenity now!
