Wednesday, November 11, 2015

I am my worst self in the morning. Actually, I'm my worst self in the late evenings as well. I also get a touch cranky in the afternoon, when I could really use a nap. Basically, there's a window of about 20 minutes a day where I am bearable.
As a parent of three young Spawns, who do you think suffers the most here? You bet your ass it's me. Twenty minutes isn't a lot of time to fit in all of the domestic chores that need to be done and to share all of the maternal love and cheeriness I need to give in order to avoid raising children who microwave small animals. I'm sad to say that I am passing on the jerk gene to my kin.

The other morning while I was deep sighing in the kitchen, my youngest yelled out, "Arg, fuck!". I snapped out of my navel gazing to calmly explain that we don't use that word (We. as in him and I. It's mine. All mine. Get your grubby hands off of it.). Now, at this point in the day I'm coffeed out and in a deep state of caffeinated paranoia so I may be way off but I had the distinct impression that my youngest was forcing himself to come down to my level to calmly explain to me, "but I dropped my spoon on the floor, so...". 

It's these small moments, these nuggets, when all of the hard work feels like it's paying off, you know? It takes humans years to develop such a strong and appropriate use of cussing. And this lil' genius whipped it out at the age of three. I was beaming with pride. 

Which meant I had about 17 minutes left of pleasantness left in my day. 

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