Last Thursday, I basically went insane for about a minute. I’d sent the kids upstairs to get ready for bed. We’ve had this arrangement for awhile now and it’s nice. They head up, brush their teeth and take care of other pre-bed rituals, and then we go up and say goodnight. It’s not one-hundred percent yet, but it’s getting close.
Well, that night ended up being a less than hundred percent night. I heard the lass whimpering. She’d started down that road just prior to going to be over her Lego project. Nothing like Lego troubles to thoroughly frustrate a child.
When I arrived in her room she was sitting in the middle of an unmade bed. Not unmade in the sense that it was a mess. Unmade in the sense that there were no sheets.
That was the beginning of the decent into insanity process. Frankly, I can’t explain why. It really wasn’t the lass’ fault that her bed wasn’t made. Although I was frustrated that she’d sat their whimpering rather than trying to do something about it. That frustration slowly ballooned into a full on fury where I was screaming as loud as I could.
When I was done, I hadn’t accomplished much. Both kids were completely silent, but the lass’ bed still wasn’t made. I was still upset as well, but I wasn’t screaming like a fool anymore.
So I made her bed, said goodnight to both of them and went downstairs to contemplate my absurd behavior. Definitely not one of my better moments in parenting. Kids can get under any parent’s skin, but in this case the lass really hadn’t done anything. Or, at least, nothing that directly precipitated my reaction. I’d taken a fairly minor offense, and blown it all out of proportion. Pretty child like, when you think about it.
My voice was done for the next couple of days. It finally started returning to normal in the last couple of days.