I had one of those days last week where BOY & GIRL were pushing limits left and right. You'd think if it was SO bad I'd remember the specific shenanigans, but I don't. And perhaps that is good. "Good" as in... perpetuating the story that is broadcast throughout the planet about a mother not remembering the pain of labor. Oh....that's true. Big fat lie. My not remembering the horrific high jinx of two masterminds aged 3 and 4 reflects a much deeper problem. My brain has dissolved.
On that no good, terrible, very bad day last week I was in the kitchen when I overheard BOY streaking down the hall, getting to the bathroom and saying, "I'm SO SHOCKED!" Now, he says this phrase fairly often and it doesn't always mean doom, but because of how the day had progressed so far I decided I better make a move on. By the time I dried my hands and was exiting the kitchen, BOY had made his way back to their room and I heard GIRL say something about "...scissors." I sprinted into the room in time to see what looked like several handfuls of neatly cut hair on the floor. And on the bed. I screamed, fell to my knees and burst into tears sobbing, "Oh, NO!!! Not your beautiful hair..." I picked up the gorgeous strands of blond, tawny and brown and clutched them to my heart wailing. GIRL seemed to be amused by my outburst, but BOY was deeply troubled. He followed me back into the bathroom where I madly searched for
Valium. I SO wish... toilet paper to stem my streaming tears.
Why are you crying, Mommy?
Because BOY, you and GIRL have been very naughty today and I am tired and sad that you've cut each other's hair.
It will be okay, Mommy. I'm sorry.
This provoked another round of sobs and waterworks. I turned on the tap and started to wash my face.
What are you doing, Mommy?
I'm washing my face with cold water, BOY, so that I'll stop crying.
Note to self: perhaps not a bad thing, children seeing you having a meltdown.
Once I had fixed myself some strong Irish tea with 1/2 C of sugar and doused it with cream, I was ready to confront the damage. BOY's haircut was negligible. I couldn't find the spot where the blond locks had been cut out. And GIRL, despite all those locks of myriad brown on the floor, appeared to have gotten a strategic haircut by BOY. He had cut from underneath her hair in the back. Not too bad. Could have been worse. *SIGH*
Later, we're pulling out of the driveway and GIRL says out of the blue:
You WANTED to have children.
I looked at her in the rear view mirror, expecting some kind of smirk from The Exorcist who had taken over my GIRL. But...there were no head swivels or flying pea soup. Just GIRL sincerely beginning a conversation:
Some people don't have children. But, you did. You wanted to have children.
Yes, GIRL. I really, really did.