I never go to the neighborhood MNOs, because I'm the only one in the coven who doesn't partake of that unholy potion ye mortals call alcohol. Although if there were a week I needed to drink away some of my witchy mother angst, it would be this week.
Graham is driving me crazy. Yesterday at play group he was most definitely "that kid"--you know the one who makes you forget that kids aren't capable of sin until age eight. Maybe he's realized that he gets a free pass until then so he's getting all his rascallity out before then. See what I did there? If you use the word "rascal" instead of "brat" it doesn't sound so bad.
Also, this week he pooped in the Chik-fil-A playplace and they had to quarantine the area while some poor lady cleaned it up. Meanwhile, another poor lady cleaned Graham up in the bathroom while her other child screamed bloody murder from her car seat in the corner of the stall. If anyone says "first world problems" to me about this ("At least you have a Chik-fil-A for your child to poop in!!"), I will Avada Kedavra you and then put your corpse, chunk by chunk, down my garbage disposal.
Today at toddler book club (yes, that's a thing, and it is awesome), during outdoor playtime, Graham dropped his pants and peed into a gravel-filled planter, as all the other moms watched. I was mortified. MORTIFIED. In late Middle English, "mortify" means "to put to death." This was true, in a social sense. I am socially dead to those mothers, I know it. Death by public toddler urination. Put that on my angel-shaped gravestone and try to mow around it without cursing.
Last night I was so frustrated by motherhood I had no choice but to end my sugar fast a week early (I lasted 20 days, though!) and self-medicate with two bowls of Rockslide Brownie ice cream, eaten as I watched Pacific Rim, a fun movie that required an insane suspension of disbelief. Why should we utilize our already-developed nuclear missiles against monsters from a different dimension when we can build massive, yet surprisingly fragile robots to karate chop them instead? Just wondering ... Then I was up all night with a sugar-induced headache that lasted until well into toddler book club this morning.
Then tonight I told him I was going to a Relief Society activity, and he cried and said he wanted to come with me, and that warmed my heart, even as I expressed disbelief that he wanted to hang out with me after I'd been such a witchy mom to him all day/week. But Graham did stay home with Dad, and was happy to eat pizza that ended up in the garbage after he refused to eat it for lunch but was then saved from the garbage after he freaked out about it being thrown away ... don't worry, it was on top of something completely innocuous, on top of the garbage can ... story of my life right now. I went to the RS activity, a women's health night, where I learned all about the horrors of menopause and remembered how awesome it is that women can create bodies and have children. Then I remembered that I really do love Graham, and in that warm fuzzy moment, I could still remember all the bodily fluids he spewed forth this week, in vivid detail. And I came home to a house of sleeping babies, and was glad I went to Relief Society, instead of to a neighborhood drinking party, so I could appreciate the quiet with all my mental faculties.
Accio, Rockslide Brownie.
|Dear Graham, I'm glad you haven't bitten me with those cute little teeth in a while.|