6:36 a.m. - 2012-01-30
I want to be a good patient mother who never raises her voice, but right now I also want to scream at them until I'm blue in the face. I am so sick of them destroying things and making messes. It's just constant. I go downstairs to put laundry in the dryer, I come back up and find my kitchen covered with coffee and canned corn. I put Cashy in the bath and the next thing I know there's waterfall into the kitchen through the overhead light (which is under the bathroom). You know he's doing this on purpose because he and I both know that if I hear splashing or water pouring on the floor I sprint upstairs and eject him from the tub. So he must have been very, very carefully and very, very quietly pouring water on the floor so I couldn't hear...
Why? WHY???? WHY DO THEY DO THESE THINGS???
When I yell at him his face crumples up and he looks so hurt and I feel horrible. It ruins my morning, looking back and forth from his hurt face (so little!) to the cable outlet cover with both screws yanked out, broken in half. One more g-d thing to fix. How many things did he break yesterday? A couple of toys and the knob to his bedroom door, I think...
Part of me does appreciate and enjoy the fact that my son is a bona fide holy terror -- he is unique and clever and creative and very very resourceful -- but he is so DAMNED destructive. I feel like if he is old enough and smart enough to figure out how to pry the cable outlet cover off the wall and break it in half while I'm taking a five-minute shower, he should be old enough and smart enough to know not to do it.
Maybe not. Maybe if he was able to remember not to break things that are attached to the walls of my house, he would refrain.
I really love my kids. I love them even though they destroy things. Really. I feel better now.