I just consumed my third shot of espresso for the day (in latte form) and a large piece of coconut flake covered chocolate cake for lunch. Yep, it’s one of those days. We are well into April and NYC has overcast skies as well as what feels like a high temperature of 2 degrees. I’m huddled on the couch, space heater blasting, trying to warm up my soul.
The baby is watching “Follow That Bird” for the 12,000th time. I’m not proud of that. At this point, I’m practicing zen and the art of the lesser-of-two-evils. Better to have her watch a movie than to have me scream at her.
You know what’s funny? I’ve been thinking about it and I cannot remember my mother yelling at me, not even once. She is a very strong woman but I still don’t know how she did it. Some days I feel like I’ve got my tongue in a never ending headlock.
I don’t want to yell at Arden. No one feels good about themselves when they are being yelled at. That doesn’t make someone feel loved. The look on her face when I yell at her says so much, “I let you down Mom..., I’m sorry Mom..., I feel worthless, I’m mad at you for yelling at me and I am going to hold it over you...” Her facial expression stops my yelling like a swift kick to the heart.
It’s so hard knowing that my lack of patience, creativity and selflessness cause her pain. I wonder if they have a 529 savings account for therapy...
I totally feel you on the yelling. When I tell Noah no, he has this face that just kills me and then he comes over and lays his head on my lap like I'm sorry mom....and when I give in and give him that hug he goes right back to starting trouble...lol.
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