I’m sure you’ve heard from many that motherhood is not all unbearably sweet moments, ultimate satisfaction, and unbridled love 24/7.
They would be absolutely right.
There are times when you take a deep breath, look up at the sky, and beseech the deity of your choice for a teensy bit of patience, or you swear to Them, you are going to pack it up and find a nice sandy beach somewhere.
It has happened to me more than once. I know, I know, you are shocked, shocked! How could Glinda be anything but the perfect mother? Take a moment to compose yourself. I’ll wait.
In fact, I have even gone so far as to call my son an unflattering noun, although not to his face.
You see, when the Munchkin gets upset, he goes into his room. Which is fine by me, because that way both of us get some time to cool off.
Eventually, I will go into his room and he will be otherwise occupied by Legos and such, and we can talk about whatever the issue is in a more calm and rational fashion. Sometimes it’s easier to get your point across when your verbal partner isn’t sobbing and/or red in the face.
Except this time, he blockaded his door, and even built a booby trap to boot. Luckily for me, (or for him, depending on your view) said booby trap failed to execute properly and instead launched in the opposite direction.
That is when I shut the door and muttered under my breath, “You little punk.”
I happen to think that it is a rather healthy thing, actually, to call a spade a spade. I would be perhaps a little dismayed to hear about a parent who thought their kid was an angel who could do no wrong.
And then I would make sure to stay as far away from them and their offspring as humanly possible.