13 March 2007

Make the Headlines

It was a murder-suicide kind of day. The kind of day that brings out the mean mama in me, that brings me closer to other mothers of two-year-olds. You only need to say, ”It was a two-year-old morning,” and I know what you mean. It seems we’re having a two-year-old month.

Things that happen right before a tantrum:

  1. I won’t let her apply my husband’s sample of musk deodorant all over her face.
  2. She can’t get her sock on.
  3. I won’t let her take a paper bag of nails to daycare.
  4. She doesn’t want to change her poopy diaper.
  5. I won’t let her rock her brother so vigorously his head flings around over his body.
Two. It explains everything. So I call my husband and try not to sound too desperate when I ask how long until he gets home because I gave her lentils when she wanted oatmeal and the baby is crying and I’m trying to cook risotto and the ants invaded the cat food and I’m dehydrated and have a headache the size of Texas and if he doesn’t get home soon there will be a murder-suicide. He knows what I mean and steps on the gas- the other direction!


Anonymous said...

I just read your poem on Literary Mamma and loved it. Now here I am relating to this blog entry, too! Thanks for writing!

CryinSam said...

Hey Kim,

-So pleased to have found your blog online. Although I haven't seen or talked to you in years, I feel comfortably close reading your words.

Richard (Blue Bell)