I should have known yesterday, when it was all idyllic and productive, that Monday would not be thwarted; Monday would not be swept under the rug and ignored. I couldn’t expect things to be smooth sailing just because True Monday was uncharacteristically Not Awful. It was good, even for a Friday, you know?
Today, the Spirit of Monday roared, and my reaction was not pretty. I held it together for a long time, through various stormy moments. Brianna couldn’t do math today. It was impossible, but pouting and looking forlornly up at me? Those she could do in spades. I reminded her that these weren’t new concepts that she was attempting to learn. This was basically review, but my goodness, if you were an innocent bystander witnessing this, you’d think I was expecting her to self-teach differential equations while reading a physics text, written in Braille, with her toes.
Miss Fiona was in fairly typical form. Lots of throwing herself down on the ground and screaming at everyone and everything for basically not bending to her will/being what she wants/being comfortable. It’s surprising that we have any carpet left, as seemingly all the carpet fibers can be found tangled in her hair at the end of each day, what with all the thrashing around she does on the floor.
To cap it all off, my mom and I took the kids for a walk this afternoon, thinking we’d all benefit from the sunshine and fresh air (before the Endless Days of Rain begin). Bri and I got into a magnificently epic battle over some serious attitude she was sporting, and it was ugly. She was convinced I hated her, and she said she wished I wasn’t her mom. I of course just carried on and got us all home, but is any mom unaffected by that kind of comment? Especially one delivered so venomously from the mouth of her first born child?
Shortly after we got back, I got the baby to sleep. Roughly 7 minutes later, I heard Fiona burst into a full blown screeching fit in the front yard, where she’d been playing with Eli. Apparently he’d been trying to carry her inside because she was going outside of her allowed play area and he was tired of fighting with her. She doesn’t take well to being handled. Bri went out to get Fiona, and handled it even worse, carrying Fi in while covering her still shrieking mouth. I’m surprised CPS hasn’t been by after the hub-bub that took place in my front yard.
The baby was obviously awake by that time, so I handed her off to Bri, scooped Fiona up from the shrieky pile she was in, and took her down to her room. We laid on her bed together to get calmed down. Within about 3 minutes, the dogs were barking their stupid faces off (it clearly entered my mind at that point that it was probably CPS or the cops at the door), but it turned out they were barking at nothing. As usual. I called the dogs to come down into the bedroom, but the dumb one would NOT come. This is when things get really heated, and I lost it completely.
I ran up the stairs and chased that dog around the table. I finally caught him, but he didn’t have his collar on so I had nothing to grab. I straddled him and pulled at his scruff, trying to get him to go downstairs. He wouldn’t budge, and all I could do was scream at him, “I HATE YOU, YOU STUPID DOG!”
Yep. Bri was sitting right there when it happened. Fiona could likely hear me from downstairs, and my mom came out from laying down because clearly the world was ending. I felt awful, and I regretted my total breakdown, but my goodness. It was like the day attacked me and I ran out of resources to handle the onslaught.
I closed myself in a bathroom and prayed. I prayed that I could cry, because I never cry, because fluoxetine numbs me. Almost immediately, tears started falling from my eyes, which of course, made me cry harder. I prayed for forgiveness for losing my mind in front of everyone, and for being horrible. Shortly after that, Bri came knocking on the door to apologize for her fit. She said she loves me and that I’m the best mom ever. She hugged me and showed me the book she made 3 years ago about when Fiona was born, to cheer me up. I apologized to everyone and hugged everyone, and we moved on with our evening.
I feel like I got hit by a semi-truck, but the grace I received is a blessing, as is the reminder of how far I’ve come. That type of breakdown used to happen far more frequently, and having one today made me realize how long it’s been since it’s happened. I’m grateful for progress, thankful for forgiveness, and hopeful that tomorrow will be better.