I took the kids to storytime at the library today, and it was a mess. 10 o’clock–when it started–is right on the edge of naptime for Sherman, but he can usually make it to noon without too much trouble. Not today.
Ruby went to a preschool time, and I accompanied Sherman to toddler time. When you’re in a room full of toddlers and yours is the worst, you have reached a new low. Who knew boys could be so violent and angry?
As we were leaving the library, both of my kids pulled their hands out of mine and went running through the parking lot. I shouted at Ruby and ended up hauling Sherman to the car by his shirt.
I’m calling this as a parenting win because neither of my children got run over or defenestrated today.
Despite what recent blog entries may be implying, I do love my kids and we have many lovely times. But sometimes they do make me want to pull my hair out. Why write about it? I want to remember more than the perfect, happy memories so that I can be empathetic to young moms when I’m elderly and mostly have lingering fond memories of my kids’ childhoods.
Dear future, elderly Eliza,
Kids are rotten sometimes. Don’t forget it.