On fear

Let me just preface this entry by mentioning that I am not, by any means, "back." Nor do I think I ever really will be. The reason I will never be back is because, simply put, the title of this blog isn't merely self depreciating jest. I've seen plenty of "Mom blogs" and "Dad blogs" that update once every week, if not day, and I have wondered exactly what it takes to be that type of person. Such a pattern of thinking usually finds me laying somewhere, vision blurred, unidentifiable stains on my clothes, a throbbing headache, and an immense desire for a calming cup of tea.

As I am not the biggest fan of tea, you'll forgive me if this is the only entry I end up posting this year.
(or perhaps you won't forgive me, at which point I can do nothing for you and I think it would be best if we said "good day" and pretend this whole thing never happened.)

So, Fear.

I happen to beam inwardly at myself after having yelled at my daughter this evening and causing her to immediately break down into near tears and sobbing.

Before you report me, again, to child services, let me explain (which is something that, when child services is involved, you never really want to have to say even once).

I'd let the girl watch a TV show while getting the table ready for dinner and her mother was out fetching groceries, occasionally popping my head in from the kitchen to make sure she hadn't jammed a crayon in her nose, eaten her younger brother, or packed a suitcase and jaunted off to Rio for some sun. Things had been fine for the most part, and eventually the pleasing tones of whatever it was being over were heard, and as such a kind, loving, attentive parent, I went back over to the TV to start something new that would keep her locked down like a tiny human zombie.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear than a near three year old spanning the gap between couch and chair, acrobatically with one leg on each, giggling as her one year old brother runs gleefully under "Bridge Toddler". This is infuriating for two major reasons.

NO! THAT IS NOT WHAT MOMMY AND DADDY'S FOUR POSTER BED IS FOR!...Well I'll tell you when you're older.

The first is that she has been told, repeatedly, not to do this thing before. Many times. More than once.
This is how children drive you crazy. It has been said that the definition of insanity is repeating the same action over and over, expecting different results. This is dumb. The definition of insanity is available right here and it mentions nothing about repetitive actions. That doesn't mean, however, that repeating actions while expecting different results won't drive you insane.   This, is of course, why I yelled at the girl. There comes a certain point in your day where "No honey, we don't hit your brother with the truck in the eyes" just doesn't convey the gravity of the terms which you are trying to impart.

Gravity, of course, is the second reason I was furious. Her brother was, at the time, playing gleefully underneath his precariously balanced sister, happily unawares of the shock, discomfort and sheer inconvenience that would  emerge should his sister's foot slip ever so slightly and the whole of her being be propelled rather quickly into his eye or face or body or any other portion of his being. This, I can forgive him for of course. He is, after all only now very nearly one year old, and as has been previously addressed by this publication, Babies are rather not very smart at all (See item III here).
She, on the other hand has a great deal of experience and should know better. We had a similar discussion about her electronic keyboard when she attempted to use it as a skateboard and I rather thought that the lesson had stuck. Quite simply, I paid a great deal of money for that boy, and she certainly isn't going to be getting a new one if she breaks it.

However, my smug sense of satisfaction wasn't due to simply venting this frustration. I must note that I really do not yell at my children very often. Other than the occasional "NO!" I'm really a pretty groovy, laid back kind of cat. So when I berated my eldest for attempting to join Cirque du Soleil before legal age, explaining to her quite loudly that she had disappointed me and would not be able to watch another episode of talking animals show due to this thing, and her eyes drooped, and her shoulders drooped, and her lower lip drooped, looking for all the world like she was melting, I understood something. She was not unhappy because she had gotten caught, she was not unhappy because she wasn't allowed to watch TV, she was unhappy because she had done something that very and quite obviously had made me unhappy.

This sounds like a power trip, and certainly part of it is probably that, I am human after all. But moreover, it means that my daughter is aware consequences outside of the immediate. This was reinforced when she came up to me later, after dinner, bobbing and bouncing and saying  "you were MAD at me Daddy!", to which the only response possible is "yes, I was, honey. Let's go read a story for bedtime."