Worst. Mother. Ever.

I am officially the worst mother of the year. The rest of you can rest easily because I have taken the title for you. (You should probably rest easy for the entire time I am a parent – I calculate that will end… at my death. There ya go – free pass for life!!)

It all started when I spent the day trying to figure out a ton of math problems for work. This wouldn’t be so bad except that over the course of a week I seem to have forgotten math. Totally. As in – I’m not even certain that 2+2=5. That’s right, right?? It appears that way these days.

I have spent the week with a screaming two year old and a six year old that gets so mad at him that she screams at the top of her lungs, slams her door, and continues to yell. We have a rule against yelling in the house, which she clearly knows about, because the rules are posted on the fridge, but she chose to scream anyway. So, she got herself grounded (not that she was going anywhere anyway, but the point was made, which is all I ask for anymore).  

My brain is fried, to say the least.

Today I forgot about a parent teacher conference. Lovely.  I feel so bad about it. When I realized it I almost cried. I have felt like such an inadequate parent this year. I’m not sure if it is because I am projecting my own horrible first grade experiences on to the teachers this year or what. I am beginning to think that first grade teachers are all the same (no offense to first grade teachers everywhere, but I had a really bad experience with mine).

I say this to Yaya - “I feel as if I am failing 1^st grade all over again!”

She tells me, “I am going to write a short story about it.”

“About what?” I ask.

“You failing first grade. It will be just a short story, with a short story line.”

I think about this for a moment as I pull into the little guy’s school parking lot.

I put the car into park in the parking spot and turn around to say to her, “I didn’t fail first grade, for the record.”

Yaya think about this for a moment and then says, “Hmm. It will make a good story anyway.”

I am officially screwed and I don’t even know what excuse to use on her teachers. If all else fails, blame Brian. ;o)

Then we get home. I think everything is going ok (after I call Brian and vent about my inadequacies at parenting, obviously).

Little guy was playing in the yard. Not quite happily but he was enjoying the snow. Yaya pops her head out the door all bundled up like she has places to go and people to see. She wants to go to the neighbors. I tell her ‘No, it’s dinner time as soon as I cook the pizza.” She throws me a look of absolute hatred and slams the door.

I usher LG in a few minutes later and ask where Yaya is. She is oh-so-slowly peeling off her winter gear and crying. “You are the Worst. Mother. Ever,” she screams as she runs to her room. I shake my head and commence making dinner.

Dinner goes smoothly and everyone is happy and eats pretty much everything on their plates. (A far cry from what transpired just 14 minutes before) Score for me!

I go to put the little guy to bed and realize I have forgotten his blanky at preschool. Not Good. I have been back and forth to his room for the better part of two hours and he still refuses to sleep. I am exhausted due to the stairs. Why didn’t I buy a ranch house?? I am kicking myself for losing the original Blanky a few weeks ago. Dang – to have two Blankies right now!!

Wait… All is quiet upstairs… Maybe they have gone to sleep! I’ll check in a bit. That silence is golden!

Boarding School: Revisited

I am seriously considering revisiting that boarding school idea I've had rolling around in my head. We had another breakdown tonight. This one involved violence. I haven't experienced that before. Today was my daughter's first day of first grade (we have year-round school here) and I should have known better than to let our neighbor come over because my daughter would be tired, but I allowed it because they have so much fun together. The girls were making up a game, playing nicely together, and the little guy was running around crying (screaming, really) because he was hungry, tired, and he's been sick for the last couple of days. I was losing my mind because loud noises send shock-waves through my nervous system and the sound in the house was an almost unbearable level. When the little guy tried to get in on the game they were playing, my darling daughter screamed at him to get away from her. I had enough at that point and asked her to pick up the game (and the non-washable markers they were using to colour it with) when s**t hit the fan.

Being the sweet girl that she is, that little girl screamed at me that she wasn't going to do it and she didn't have to. I asked her again, and when she refused to pick everything up I told her to go to her room. If I thought the poop hit the fan before I was sorely mistaken. I didn't know the poop could fly as far as it did when it hit it the second time. I again told her to go to her room because she needed a break. She promptly backed herself into a corner, yelling at screaming at me that she hated me. When I went to grab her to remove her to her room she pulled a wrestling move of some sort and managed to get past me.

It was at that moment that I regretted this open floor plan that we have. She ran all around the house but managed to get stuck in the laundry room. I was trying to carry her up the stairs when she wrapped her scrawny, yet surprisingly powerful little legs around the rungs. I managed to pull her up the stairs, she was hanging on for dear life the whole way, and get her to her room.

Then the poop started flying at a completely new level... When I tried to leave the room things started flying at me. Literally. When I felt the shoe hit me that was it. I shut her in the room, holding the door shut to keep her from escaping. She told me she wasn't going to stop throwing things until I let her out. When she was younger I had to turn the lock around to keep her in there. I won't do that now, because she no longer needs to be locked in for her own safety at night, but gosh darn it, I sure want to!

After about twenty minutes she calmed down, and until I put her to bed she was calm in there, perhaps realizing why she was in there, and the rest of the evening progressed smoothly. I've decided instead of sending her away to a reform school, which would be the easiest choice, we are going to do some counseling. I hope that living in a military community, where people are experienced with deployments and the fallout left on the young children, that we will be able to get her some help. Until then she is grounded until Sunday. This will be WAY harder on me than it is on her.

Boarding School

At what point do I get a break from an angry, yelling, stomping six year old? When do I finally say "Enough!" and call the farthest (furthest??) boarding school away from here? Just kidding. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe... We are on day three of horrible behavior time from Missy Mad Mad.

I feel like this is all because her dad is away for some military training. She always brings her worst to me when he is gone. I know it is because she misses him terribly and it's hard when he isn't around. She doesn't know how to articulate her feelings very well because she doesn't have the words. The poor girl has really only spent about 3 years of her life with him; interspersed throughout the six years she's been alive. The longest stretch was a year and a half, which isn't saying much because that's when she was 2 1/2 to just-turned 4 (literally - he left four days after her birthday to deploy) and it's hard for her to remember all of that time.

It's hard to know what to say to her when she gets like this. I've been to all of the military classes that supposedly teach you how to deal with this behavior and what to do about it, but I have yet to find something that helps right away. I have found it just takes time, sometimes a long time, but the toll it takes on the parent left at home is definitely difficult. We have the Daddy Dolls * (which are fabulous, might I add - the link is below), but they obviously aren't the same as Daddy being here. I tell her we will see him soon, that he is only a drive away, but she doesn't really understand geography and it feels like it will be forever to a child who has a different sense of time than an adult who can process those things better. I try and be an understanding mother, but eventually the tantrums wear through my patience and I get sick of them.

It's then that I start looking for boarding schools. I found one in Australia that looked really nice right after my son was born and my daughter was a holy terror. She was almost 4 1/2 and my husband was deployed on his third tour. I (wisely) decided against sending her there. Her dad probably would have been a tad bit angry at me when he got home and she was gone, or when he saw the money coming out of the account... But, oh my, how I wanted to sign her up and ship her out! Maybe he won't be so mad if I look for one a bit closer, like London, or Switzerland... nah, he'd still be upset.

Instead, I have come up with a solution. I will put her in a box, with breathing holes, of course (come on, I'm not cruel!!) and ship her to him. I'd had that thought while he was overseas during the other deployments, but I thought that the flight would be a little long and she might get a cramp in her leg, start yelling like a banshee, totally blowing my cover, and I'd be stuck with her again. (not to mention child protective services) He's not so far away now, only a two hour flight, so maybe, just maybe it would work... Hey, a frazzled mother can wish, right?

*https://www.daddydolls.com/