In Which I'm a Terrible Mother

It's been a crappy afternoon. Coming off a busy morning of Bible study that left me feeling "meh" and the kids incredibly high strung and talking/babbling a mile a minute, I was hoping for a peaceful afternoon. But, for whatever reason, New Baby decided on a super short nap and I found myself staring at the clock at 2:15 and wondering what the heck I was going to do for the next 6 hours. The idea of staying home made all of us antsy, so I decided we would go to the playground and library.

And that's when the afternoon went from crappy to awful.

We got to the library, whereupon I realized I have never really taught my kids the Rules Of The Library. Namely, it is frowned upon to run through the library and scream like Corn Children. Also, I realized that the vibe of the library at 10 AM, when we usually go, is totally different than it is around 3. Specifically, people give you and your Corn Children dirty looks when they run around screaming at 3 PM. Add to that the fact that Captain Destructo almost got smashed in the automatic doors and New Baby was stinking up the joint with her rank diaper, we got the heck out of the library as fast as we could and moved next door to the playground.

Because I am the master of foresight and planning, I chose the playground that has recently added adult workout equipment. Because, you know, adults work out at the playground all the time. Of course, both girls made a beeline for the chest press machine and the way-too-big plyometric benches. Nevermind the swings, climbing toys, and slides that were right next to them. I informed them that we needed to stay on the playground. They whined. I said they would stay on the playground or we would go home. They went to the playground for about 30 seconds and went back to the workout area. I repeated my warning. They repeated their whining. I realized I would have to actually follow through with my threat, gathered up 60 pounds of whining children, and left.

Fast forward 2 hours, I was cleaning up a wholesome and delicious dinner (where New Baby ate 2 containers of applesauce), still stewing over my crappy day, missing my husband, and listening to sounds of shrieking from Captain Destructo's room, and I did this.
"WHAT IS THE PROBLEEEEEEEEM?!"

Yeah. I'm awesome. And then I realized that I was yelling, actually yelling, at a 1 year old and a 3 year old for fighting over a toy. (If you wondered, the story I got was Captain D was trying to do New Baby's hair and she wouldn't let her.) I know they're good kids. Seriously, I was a teacher. I know bad kids. I just wish I could be more patient and calm and Michelle Duggar-like, who, by the way, probably doesn't respond to stress by hiding in her pantry and eating bagfuls handfuls of candy corn. Not that I do that.

But, in the spirit of teaching them forgiveness, I told them I was sorry and spent the next 20 minutes letting Captain Destucto pull brush my hair. And now we're watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and praying for a better tomorrow.

What, me worry?

I am totally the queen of worry. I worry the kids will get picked on, get sick, get hurt, even get bug bites (West Nile is killing people in Texas. Like I need another thing down here that could kill us). After New Baby's latest pediatrician visit, I realized I should start worrying about the fact that she doesn't talk.

I guess that's not entirely accurate. I have been keeping a running tally of all the words she's ever said. At 18 months, she has said 14 words at least one time. But most days, she says "Ma" for Mama, "Ma" for Molly (Captain Destructo's real name. Your mind is blown, I know), duck, ball, and book. Occasionally we'll get an Elmo or an Abby. And yes, I realize that 1/3 of her words are Sesame Street characters. I have video of Captain Destructo on her 2nd birthday where she says "the hat fall down on my face." So yeah, there is a bit of disparity there. If things stay the way they are now, on New Baby's 2nd birthday she will be emitting a series of grunts and blowing raspberries, doing a close impersonation of the Tasmanian Devil.

Like most people who worry, I google. And when I google I found that if your child is not meeting language milestones, you should may need to start thinking about autism. I really don't think she's there. Girlfriend can make animal noises like no one's business, as well as point to body parts, and she does that thing where she points to things just to share it with us (I used to know the name for that before I became a stay at home mom and my brain turned to mush). So if she's not meeting language milestones, and she's most likely not autistic, then (a) do I need to worry and (b) what do I do to help her? I have a total vision of her in her cap and gown, holding up her diploma and yelling "Ma! Book!"

Going to chase a roll of Tums with a glass of wine.