Wow. What a bad morning. I yelled at my son. Doesn’t even matter why. I just shouldn’t have. I hate the sound of my voice when I yell. I think my husband and son probably hate it too.
I don’t know why I am so completely ruined by the morning routine, or lack there of. We’re always late. Always. You know this. I’ve written about it before. It’s old, dead news, but it’s everyday.
It’s a stress every single day and I don’t always handle it very well.
In fact, this has been a bad week in general. I guess Christmas kinda stresses me out. I love it, but I hate it, you know?
There are a lot of social commitments and holiday chores. There are unexpected expenses and germs floating around (the husband has a cold) and just a lot of anxious, weird energy in the air. Oh, and you can’t find parking at Toys-R-Us and the cashiers at the drug store stop being friendly. Stress.
I kept my son home from school because I yelled at him. He’s not sick. I told the school he was sick. Yes, I fibbed. If they read my blog, then they know I’m a fibber, about this issue anyway.
Had to do it though. I couldn’t leave him with someone else all day after yelling at him like that. I need to make up for it. I need to have a good day with him. I need him to have a good day with me.
We went to the store. We took my friend’s dog to the park then stopped at McDonald’s for a while. McDonald’s was loud.
My son ate a few fries with some caramel dip and then climbed around in the playroom for thirty minutes. Does that count as quality time?
Now we have to get into the car to make the forty minute drive north for an appointment with his therapist. He sees her once a week. He loves her. I will sit in the waiting room and read the latest issue of People Magazine. That’s my therapy today.
After that, we meet my mom for an early dinner. My son will probably have pancakes. Or a dish of croutons and a blob of whipped cream.
Then tomorrow will come and it will start again. And we’ll be late, like always.