As I recounted to my running partner, A., this morning as we ran Cherokee Boulevard in the pre-dawn hours, this has not been my best week in terms of parenting performance. That's actually a bit of an (ahem) understatement, given that I've morphed of late into a screeching harpy of a mommy monster.
What's my problem? Stress? Boredom? Too many beans? Who knows, but there it is: I am socially unacceptable. So far this week:
One shrieking episode.
One instance of total hypocrisy and subseqent eating of crow.
Skipped cub scouts.
Two instances of plain meanness.
Ended soccer season missing every goal my child kicked.
On the other hand:
Helped child finish book report early. Without making him cry!
Played Monopoly with kids for two nights. Was civil!
Read one chapter of Indian in the Cupboard. Without stopping!
Planning to attend kid soccer celebration at Mr. Gatti's. Maybe!
I loathe Mr. Gatti's, so if that counts extra, this week may be a wash.
But only maybe.