I realized tonight that if I had been told that I was working in an institution for the mentally ill, I could have that expectation and not be bothered by the absolutely weird, neurotic if not psychotic, and completely annoying behaviors of some of my children. As it is, this is supposed to be my family and for some reason it doesn’t seem as distant or impersonal as I might imagine it would if I were the staff member at an asylum.
It seems that the more tired I am, the weirder they are and the more annoying. Last night, I did not find it funny at all when I was driving home from Pamida and Mike was hanging his head out the door pretending to be a dog while John and Salinda were spitting on each other for fun at the same time that John was kicking the back of my seat saying “Salinda, stop kicking mom’s seat. And don’t even try to blame it on me.”
I had to muster up all the patience I have because what I’ve learned is that if I react, it’s the beginning of a downhill slippery slope of unparalleled stress, argumentation, and distress. So I concentrate REALLY hard on saying things like, “you guys know that is not appropriate” in a very calm voice.
But by the end of rides like this (it was only two miles) I’m the one who belongs in a loony bin. Certifiably.
No comments:
Post a Comment