Thursday: “Emily, that is complete bullshit. Please go find a place in your room to hide before I decide to change my mind about my parenthood. And listen, this is not a punishment… it’s the only way you’re going to survive the day.”
Friday 3:00a: “Isaac, I swear, little boy, you don’t go to sleep and I’m going to toss you in a snowbank and see if I’m ready to deal with you after the spring thaw.”
Friday, 7:30a email to Willem: “Jacob apparently made it to the bus alive, or he’s sniveling in a snowbank somewhere… I can’t find it in my heart to get too worried after this morning’s adventure. You saw what a delight it was to dredge Miss Emily from bed, but the trick to her in the morning is to ignore the snarling and nastiness in the first five minutes and then just stay out of her way and she’s good to go. Jacob is usually equally predictable – easier to get out of bed but needing more prompting to actually pick up the spoon and take a bite – but today as he was about to leave, he’s wandering around the house yanking his snowpants/jeans combination up as though he’s just been released from prison and they took his belt away. So I had the audacity to suggest, ‘Go grab a belt and toss it in your bag… you don’t have to use it today, but if you find that your pants are falling down in school you’ll be able to fix that.’
‘I DON’T NEED ONE!’ repeated 4 or 5 times, top volume, in the midst of that special treat which is a rare and spontaneous Jacob-tantrum. Damn near tossed him out a window instead of wasting time with all those stairs.”
Gah. You try really hard to like your kids, but some days the best you can mange is to love them.