I love my children, but they can turn any enjoyable outing into a miserable experience.
Like, why do we take them anywhere? Any amens from the choir out there?
I sat at the table of a German restaurant trying not to speak out loud the curse words that ran through my mind. Directed at my children. Sounds terrible, right?! But as I sent secret text messages to my spouse across the table, every GIF that popped up under the search “aggravated” seemed to fit. Yet it was more than aggravation. It was beyond mere frustration. It was the pot threatening to boil over, the kind of slow roll that only your own offspring could produce. They were exasperating.
They didn’t like the menu. It didn’t have macaroni, after all. Never mind that we had only chosen the restaurant to silence their whines of, “I’m starving! Can’t we find a place to eat already?!”
Never mind that they had grumbled the whole three or four blocks to the downtown area about being tired, chilly, or having sore feet. Never mind that I had brought jackets they forgot to get out of the truck, or comfy sneakers they had refused to change into.
I loved my children soooo much, but if I’m laying it all out for you… sometimes I want to kill them. Like, shaken child syndrome, kill them.
Why must they repeat the same phrase over and over, and yet over again, until I say, “oh yeah. Really? That’s interesting.”
“Hey, Mom. Watch this!”
*child performs some very minor, dance step/jump, or something
Crickets.
“Wow. That’s awesome,” I say.
I love my children soooo much, but dang, sometimes they are total brats. I look at them whining, fighting, complaining, and I want to know who raised these wild animals!
Oh.
Yeah.
