The Day My Son Called Me On My Inappropriate Behavior
I think it was the third time The Kiddo walked into the room and asked for some Goldfish crackers when I snapped. It wasn't enough that I was on a work deadline and was trying to cram that last bit of perfectionism into an e-mail with a crabbing baby on my knee demanding to be bounced. No. I had to have a 5 year old screaming for Goldfish crackers.
My mind was screaming "WHY ON EARTH DO YOU NEED TO KEEP COMING IN HERE TIME AND TIME AGAIN ASKING FOR GOLDFISH CRACKERS!" Definitely not appropriate in any case. But I was having problems channeling my inner (calmer) mom voice. The one who's leg and arm weren't exhausted enough from the last half hour of bouncing. And endless nagging for candy, or chips, or these damn Goldfish crackers. And I did the abominable. The one thing I hated of my own mother... I sighed. It wasn't a normal hidden sigh, it was loud exaggerated. The Queen Grandma-ma of all sighs. I was on the brink of losing it.
And my son--my lovely, honest, son--called me on it.
"Mom," he blinked innocently, "Why are you being so grumpy?" Blink. Blink. "And you're being mean too."
This time I think I blinked back. My son was calling me on my outlandish behaviour. True enough, I'd been weaseled away in my office (well, bedroom) working. Being distracted. And not paying attention to his little, effortless needs. Not that I hadn't been tending to the baby's needs (hell she had to be nursed only a whole 5 minutes earlier).... but him. The first born who'll be in school in September. Yeah. He doesn't need much these days. A hug. Kiss. Small discussions. And apparently Goldfish crackers. And I came this close to snapping at him.
I forced a smile, my inner-mom finally coming forward. "I'll get them here in a second."
"You always say that too."
Can this kid get any smarter? Or can I just shove him off into adulthood now. It might be easier than when he is 16.
"I know Kiddo." My eyes wander to the incomplete e-mail message. Is it critical I get this out in the next 15 minutes? Not really. It isn't like anyone will read it right way.
One more (hidden) deep breath and I walk to the pantry, grab the Goldfish crackers and sit him down for a snack. Just in time for The Peanut to want cereal. That "critical" e-mail? Didn't get sent for at least an hour. And you know what? The world didn't end.
My mind was screaming "WHY ON EARTH DO YOU NEED TO KEEP COMING IN HERE TIME AND TIME AGAIN ASKING FOR GOLDFISH CRACKERS!" Definitely not appropriate in any case. But I was having problems channeling my inner (calmer) mom voice. The one who's leg and arm weren't exhausted enough from the last half hour of bouncing. And endless nagging for candy, or chips, or these damn Goldfish crackers. And I did the abominable. The one thing I hated of my own mother... I sighed. It wasn't a normal hidden sigh, it was loud exaggerated. The Queen Grandma-ma of all sighs. I was on the brink of losing it.
And my son--my lovely, honest, son--called me on it.
"Mom," he blinked innocently, "Why are you being so grumpy?" Blink. Blink. "And you're being mean too."
This time I think I blinked back. My son was calling me on my outlandish behaviour. True enough, I'd been weaseled away in my office (well, bedroom) working. Being distracted. And not paying attention to his little, effortless needs. Not that I hadn't been tending to the baby's needs (hell she had to be nursed only a whole 5 minutes earlier).... but him. The first born who'll be in school in September. Yeah. He doesn't need much these days. A hug. Kiss. Small discussions. And apparently Goldfish crackers. And I came this close to snapping at him.
I forced a smile, my inner-mom finally coming forward. "I'll get them here in a second."
"You always say that too."
Can this kid get any smarter? Or can I just shove him off into adulthood now. It might be easier than when he is 16.
"I know Kiddo." My eyes wander to the incomplete e-mail message. Is it critical I get this out in the next 15 minutes? Not really. It isn't like anyone will read it right way.
One more (hidden) deep breath and I walk to the pantry, grab the Goldfish crackers and sit him down for a snack. Just in time for The Peanut to want cereal. That "critical" e-mail? Didn't get sent for at least an hour. And you know what? The world didn't end.
Labels: motherhood, slice of life story challenge, The Kiddo, working
