I was in a bad mood yesterday. Not the satisfying kind where you feel really justified in acting like a raunch all day, just the pathetic kind where you take it out on everyone else and feel like a jerk later on. I woke up fine. Ate breakfast, fed the kids, got them dressed, even cooked part of the dinner we would be having after church. I was feeling a little proud. And then I looked at the clock. 10:15. Church started in 45 minutes and I still hadn't showered, gone through the necessary outfit crisis, or combed any of the kids hair. Hair combing was necessary. Jeffrey had already informed me he needed to look as handsome as possible since he would be standing up in front of the entire ward. He had his part down, Owen was ready to sing and wave for an entire hour, and I needed to get to church at least 15 minutes early if I wanted to be anywhere near the chapel for the primary program. At 10:45 we hurried into the car, crisis averted, hair combed. All was well...except that Owen could not seem to get his shoes on. "Put them on in the car," I told him, "really Owen, you are FIVE now, you can put shoes on." Nope, Mr. sock feet would not even attempt to put on his shoes on. I opened the door upon arrival, trying to squeeze my bulging belly between Paige's car seat and Owen's legs in order to shove his feet in said shoes. He sat there limp. "Owen, put the shoes on dammit." It didn't phase him. To him dammit was as much a swear word as cornucopia. Never heard it before, don't know what it means, thus it is ignored completely. I don't ever swear, ever. Maybe twice a year. Jeff swears even less. Which is why my son was so unfamiliar with the expression of my utter frustration. But as the word left my mouth I looked up and noticed a couple walking into church that had undoubtedly heard and understood my frustration. A new couple I had never seen before. Instantly I felt like a total schmuck. I think swearing is trashy. Swearing at your child is even more trashy. Swearing at your child in the church parking lot... well let's just say that mother of the year is definitely out. I finally got the offending shoes tied, herded the kids into the chapel where there were exactly 0 seats left, and sat down in the first row of folding chairs. Right across from the cute new couple that had witnessed my fine vocabulary skills. I smiled weakly, made a conscious effort to be extra nice to Paige, and waved at Owen a total of 23 times during the program in hopes of somehow vindicating myself. It must not have worked. Schmuckiness continued through Sunday school as I went on to totally embarrass my undeserving husband, the dinner I prepared was a total bust, Jeff was the target of yet another rude comment, and I went to bed feeling like a total jerk. Can I blame it on hormones??? Another sad side effect of placenta brain? Anything??? Bless the poor boys in this house that have had to put up with me lately. Swearing? Honestly.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Mother of the year
I was in a bad mood yesterday. Not the satisfying kind where you feel really justified in acting like a raunch all day, just the pathetic kind where you take it out on everyone else and feel like a jerk later on. I woke up fine. Ate breakfast, fed the kids, got them dressed, even cooked part of the dinner we would be having after church. I was feeling a little proud. And then I looked at the clock. 10:15. Church started in 45 minutes and I still hadn't showered, gone through the necessary outfit crisis, or combed any of the kids hair. Hair combing was necessary. Jeffrey had already informed me he needed to look as handsome as possible since he would be standing up in front of the entire ward. He had his part down, Owen was ready to sing and wave for an entire hour, and I needed to get to church at least 15 minutes early if I wanted to be anywhere near the chapel for the primary program. At 10:45 we hurried into the car, crisis averted, hair combed. All was well...except that Owen could not seem to get his shoes on. "Put them on in the car," I told him, "really Owen, you are FIVE now, you can put shoes on." Nope, Mr. sock feet would not even attempt to put on his shoes on. I opened the door upon arrival, trying to squeeze my bulging belly between Paige's car seat and Owen's legs in order to shove his feet in said shoes. He sat there limp. "Owen, put the shoes on dammit." It didn't phase him. To him dammit was as much a swear word as cornucopia. Never heard it before, don't know what it means, thus it is ignored completely. I don't ever swear, ever. Maybe twice a year. Jeff swears even less. Which is why my son was so unfamiliar with the expression of my utter frustration. But as the word left my mouth I looked up and noticed a couple walking into church that had undoubtedly heard and understood my frustration. A new couple I had never seen before. Instantly I felt like a total schmuck. I think swearing is trashy. Swearing at your child is even more trashy. Swearing at your child in the church parking lot... well let's just say that mother of the year is definitely out. I finally got the offending shoes tied, herded the kids into the chapel where there were exactly 0 seats left, and sat down in the first row of folding chairs. Right across from the cute new couple that had witnessed my fine vocabulary skills. I smiled weakly, made a conscious effort to be extra nice to Paige, and waved at Owen a total of 23 times during the program in hopes of somehow vindicating myself. It must not have worked. Schmuckiness continued through Sunday school as I went on to totally embarrass my undeserving husband, the dinner I prepared was a total bust, Jeff was the target of yet another rude comment, and I went to bed feeling like a total jerk. Can I blame it on hormones??? Another sad side effect of placenta brain? Anything??? Bless the poor boys in this house that have had to put up with me lately. Swearing? Honestly.
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4 comments:
Oh man I love you! I am so glad I'm not the only one that has days like that!! I'm excited to come visit you this Friday....10am. Be in your pajamas and we'll meet on the porch. No house cleaning!!
I seriously struggle with Sundays! I don't know why, but I tend to be a total raunch on Sunday's as well...and I'm not pregnant and hormonal:) It started to become a real issue, so Matt and I started having a family prayer together ever Sunday morning before we left the house for church, even if we're running late. I can't tell you the difference it has made!
I hope your days get better:)
Another reason why I like you so much! I'm trying to think of anything that happened during Sunday school- can't come up with it- probably nothing really happened, or I was just oblivious (another real possibility). I had a day like yours yesterday. Why is it one of the universal rules of life that you run into the most possible people on the day when you look your worst (glasses/sweats/you get the picture) and your kids are acting like possessed little demons? Not that my kids ever do......
Hope we both have a better day today.
Last night I seriously questioned the counsel that Family Home Evening should be held on a weekly basis. The kids were out of control (3 out of the 4) and I was ready to throw in the towel. (Actually, I threw it twice but nobody payed attention to it.) Thank goodness we can start over every day. Maybe they'll change FHE to once a month. Wishful thinking. Kidding. Almost.
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