So, it’s become clear to me that yes, I am, in fact, a screamer. I’ve become one of those Moms that I never really thought I’d be or at least I hoped I wouldn’t be. But, nonetheless, the fact is that, when push comes to shove and the rubber hits the road and all hell is breaking loose (look at that, three coloquialisms in a row) I am…in fact…a screamer.
And, apparently you know you have entered the inner sanctum of my life when I allow you to witness the full mental breakdown that leads to the event of my banshee-esque screaming. Today, for example…
My beloved almost-five-year old (he long ago stopped calling himself four) had been out of the house almost literally all day long. School, extended for lunch and play with a new “girlfriend” (she’s from Norway and Big Brother apparently takes after his father), no afternoon nap, home for about 20 minutes then off to a swimming playdate at the Y and dinner with his best friend, C. And C’s nanny who is a-w-e-s-o-m-e. I adore her. And I have total envy of my new and wonderful friend M., who employs said Nanny’s services and, therefore, exposes her children to DELIGHTFUL play on a regular basis. (As an example, Big Brother made a pickle pizza last time he was at C’s house. How cool is that?)
Anyway, Nanny is kind enough to allow the ours to be family #2 and she helps us out as much as she can. We do regular play-dates at the park. My boys love her and can’t wait for the next time we go out but they hope we DONT go out with C’s Mommy and Daddy because that means they can’t have Nanny all to themselves.
Now, fast forward to 6:45 this evening when Big Brother arrives home. I haven’t seen the kid in what seems like weeks and, as I rush to the door to greet him with visions of hugs and kisses, I realize quickly that he could, clearly, care less. Instead, he saunters past me on his way to, no doubt, ensure that his pesky little brother hasn’t had any fun while he was gone and to make DAMN sure that said fun stops…now. Up the stairs goes Big Brother. I greet Nanny who wants to discuss (god bless her) when she can take him off my hands YET AGAIN for a sleepover with C.
30 seconds go by. Max. Little Brother wails loudly from upstairs.
Me (medium voice): Hey guys? Play nice, ok?
Conversation continues with Nanny.
10 seconds later.
Big Brother: NO, Little Brother, that’s my Bakugan!
Little Brother wails yet again. I picture the hands on the shoulders shake Big is undoubtedly giving Little.
F-ing Bakugans.
Me: Big Brother! Stop!
Smile at Nanny. “Sorry.” She understands, of course.
12 seconds? Maybe?
More cries. Louder now. Conversation with Nanny is drawing to a close. But not before she hears the quiet fraying sound of…what was that? Oh yes, my last nerve.
Me: Big Brother, I swear if you don’t keep your hands to yourself this second I’m going to come up there and you. will. be. SORRY!
Nanny: Ok, well let’s chat tomorrow.
Sometimes I wonder what differentiates the good Moms from the bad. I sure as hell hope it isn’t volume.
Confessions of a Serial Swooper 