I'll take your hour and raise you a weekend
Damn Daylight Savings Time. There's no way I can help but feel cheated over my lost hour. I know; I know it all works out in the end, but I'm living in the here and now and feeling very 8 PM-ish even though my clock tells me it's 9 PM-ish.
Maybe I'm just PMS-ish.
All I know for sure is that apparently no amount of weekends away or mini vacations with the husband or days of leisure when the nanny is here is ever going to magically turn me into a patient mother. My screaming has been particularly vicious lately. I'm just... impatient. I'm impatient with my kids, I'm impatient with my husband, and I'm impatient with anybody else who dares to step foot inside my house. Last week my mom was here and I was impatient with her. And all of my impatience with others means that I'm impatient with myself, too. Why can't I be more patient? I'm impatient to know.
I'm mulling over possible solutions to my problem. Deep breathing? Counting slowly to ten? Giving myself timeouts? (More) self help books? Therapy? Drugs?
While I explore the dark side of the mama some more, I promise I will type up my journal entries from last week's Vegas getaway. I wrote them in my trusty Moleskine notebook, but if you think I was impatient because of my lack of a computer with Internet access, you're right. And if you think I was impatient with my husband because he did have a computer and he did find wireless access in the airport on the way home but then he chose to hog the computer so that he could play online poker even though he had just played offline poker for two straight days... Well, you'd be right again.
I'm hosting playgroup at my house tomorrow morning. I wonder if I will magically become more patient between now and then?
***
Technorati tags: impatient mother, impatient wife, impatient daughter
Maybe I'm just PMS-ish.
All I know for sure is that apparently no amount of weekends away or mini vacations with the husband or days of leisure when the nanny is here is ever going to magically turn me into a patient mother. My screaming has been particularly vicious lately. I'm just... impatient. I'm impatient with my kids, I'm impatient with my husband, and I'm impatient with anybody else who dares to step foot inside my house. Last week my mom was here and I was impatient with her. And all of my impatience with others means that I'm impatient with myself, too. Why can't I be more patient? I'm impatient to know.
I'm mulling over possible solutions to my problem. Deep breathing? Counting slowly to ten? Giving myself timeouts? (More) self help books? Therapy? Drugs?
While I explore the dark side of the mama some more, I promise I will type up my journal entries from last week's Vegas getaway. I wrote them in my trusty Moleskine notebook, but if you think I was impatient because of my lack of a computer with Internet access, you're right. And if you think I was impatient with my husband because he did have a computer and he did find wireless access in the airport on the way home but then he chose to hog the computer so that he could play online poker even though he had just played offline poker for two straight days... Well, you'd be right again.
I'm hosting playgroup at my house tomorrow morning. I wonder if I will magically become more patient between now and then?
***
Technorati tags: impatient mother, impatient wife, impatient daughter
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