Thursday, May 21st 2015
Somehow in spite of ALL the therapy and training and mental health exercises and meds, I still get tangled in knots of angst and discomposure over the kids. Big surprise right? (And did you even know that was a *word*? I didn’t, yet there it was, precisely when I reached for it.)
Take for example yesterday’s rant. Or getting to school this morning. To wit: When either or BOTH parties you chauffeur don’t feel like putting on SHOES… it can inspire a certain …ennui.
So after implementing a smattering of Dialectical Behavior Therapy tools (stepping back, cooling off, breathing mindfully; avoiding breakdown but still arriving *ANNOYED*),
I propose the kids take them damn-SELVES into school, instead of me.
They slay me. Melt me. Drive me crazy. Then be kind to each other? I’m like:
I keep staring:
And Boy left me this note:
A Yummy Mummy I’ll never be. Horrific nails and all, I got a Workin’ Girl’s hands. And I wouldn’t trade my crappy nails and Sharpie’d love note for pampered hands, no matter how FREAKING enticing that sounds right now. I’m sure I’d polish my nails ONCE in a while, if I could just figure out how to do it without sacrificing the use of my hands for even one tiny moment.
But I digress. Comme toujours.
Oh yeah and by the way; Louis CK SHOES [57 secs]: