This afternoon both of my girls are refusing to nap. That, in itself, is annoying. I have a million things to do that I can only do when they are asleep; and I count on some brief spell of common nap to organize my mind -- as well as my house, my life, etc. When I'm really lucky, I even get a spell of time to write.
Today I'm just out-and-out stealing it. Dee is crawling around on the floor under my feet while I am typing. I took Dee out of Kay's and her room because Kay was climbing up into Dee's crib every time I left the room. And then smiling at my rising temper which, of course, sent it right into overdrive. Nothing like proving to my two year old daughter that she is more in control than I am to make me lose it altogether. I slammed the door after rudely dumping Kay back in her own bed again, while saying to Dee "Let's go have some fun while your sister is alone in here."
So, (a) I was spiteful and out-of-control, (b) I used Dee against Kay, (c) I made napping a punishment; and (d) I even lied to Dee, who is, as I write, grumbling about the lack of attention I am giving her.
Bad, bad, bad, seriously BAD mommy!
I suck. I feel exactly as tall as a deflated balloon.
Someday in the future -- with the convenient gloss-over of hindsight -- maybe I'll reminisce about days like today with a compassionate smile. The steam hissing out of my head will seem, then, almost funny -- maybe? This tight knot of anger and frustration and impatience will -- if I remember feeling it at all -- seem a little histronic, a kind of missing-the-point of these special dear years with my girls, right? I mean, so what that they'll run out of clean diapers tonight? So what that the dishes pile up in the sink? So they miss a nap... really, what DOES prevent me from just laughing with Kay about it all?
I don't know. But I feel defeated and sad and wish very much I could just start the day over. I hate days like this.