Alright, I’m done with Summer vacation. It’s been, what, 31 hours now, and I’m ready to send ‘em back.
Part of it I blame on the woodpeckers. They had the 10 year old up at 5:30 this morning. And because she was mad, she woke me up. Like I’m some magical woodpecker fairy who can make the beasts leave our composite siding alone. I think she really blames me. She thinks that every night, I climb up the extension ladder and spread Woodpecker Love Juice all over the wall outside her room. For what purpose? Because it’s fun spending time with a 10 year old girl who doesn’t get enough sleep. It’s enjoyable to watch her unleash her snottiness all over me before I’ve had my morning cup o’ coffee. Hey, maybe that’s the problem. I don’t actually drink coffee. Maybe if I did, I could handle the drama better. And maybe if the coffee had a little happy something or other in it, I wouldn’t remember the drama anyway.
Then, the 6 year old decides to slap the 3 year old across the face. “I didn’t know her lip would bleed,” is the apology she gave when I threatened, with my best mothering skills, to slap her and let her know what it felt like. How long have you lived with me, 6 year old? How can you so drastically misjudge the reason for my anger? You think it’s because the lip was bleeding? Like it had nothing to do with the fact that you, twice her size and at least 10 times as mean, have just smacked her. And why did you smack her? Because she had your pillow. Yup, that’s a good reason for violence. Almost as good as a mother who offers to “let you know how it felt.” Chalk one up for her future therapy bill.
And the 3 year old spent every waking moment either crying or threatening to cry or just finishing up from crying. By the time I shuttled her off to bed, I had no more comfort left to give. I had Tabasco sauce, which I seriously considered threatening them all with, but I held off. We’ve still got 3 months of Summer left. I don’t want to use my big guns now.