{warning — mommy venting …. it is not pretty, it is a little bit need two Zolofts}
I am a get quiet when I am really cross person.
If I am ranting like a lunatic then you know this will blow over relatively quickly. If I purse my lips, go quiet and stare at you, then it is pretty much time to flee — or at the very least, just back off and give me some space because the little voices in my head are all screaming. And not in unison.
This evening I was sitting with the kids doing homework. At some point I started telling them about how records work.
In no way related to the subject at hand.
I was all telling them stuff and reliving the year we discovered electricity and all. I dip my hand into the record sleeve and start explaining how the record needle works, and and and ….. all quite jazzy, and much more “show and tell” than I would normally would be. But there I am giving this sane mommy thing a run for it’s money.
I look into the record jacket and see that one of the records is broken.
Connor starts explaining … quickly …. how he was showing Georgia and it fell and it broke and he is so sorry.
I know Connor. One does not pass a record from Connor to Georgia.
My guess is they were monkeying – he was probably the instigator and Georgia’s ball skills are atrocious. My guess is her record catching skills are left wanting at about the time Connor lobbed it across the room. Frisby anyone?
It is an old record. Gigi actually. Very little sentimental value. I had found it in a second hand store and it had the original jacket, and I wanted to frame it.
I am so angry. Not because they had broken the record (okay also because of that) but because they thought they could hide it from me, and only confessed when they realised I had started a rather unfortunately timed “show and tell!”
I was so angry. White lips, quivering angry.
I really hate deceit. I really do. I knew he thought he had got away with it, and then he is like “what the hell, show and tell now!! Now!!!”
I sent Connor and Georgia to bed – it was 18h23.
I stripped her of her “Princess for a Day” title. I could see Connor was the more sorry. But he always is. In this case I know he was the instigator and he was the one who hid it. How? My spidey sense that all moms have.
I went d0wn the passage now to check they were in bed, and no one had bailed over the wall to make a run for it. Connor has written this very long, very heart felt letter about how sorry he is. It includes a graphic of him crying. The boy has mad illustration skills.
I am at that juncture where Connor has been doing a lot of things lately that are just clumsy. Stupid. Careless. A wanton disregard of the rules (bet you never thought you would hear that phrase outside a Jane Austin novel).
He knows he is monkeying around and seeing how far he can push it.
Getting out the car today, he was trying to keep Georgia getting in to the boot of the car to get her school bag. When she got upset, and he realised I was standing there, then he feigned a huge effort to placate her and help her with her bag.
Again being a monkey, and just arsing around, and in so doing crushed half a loaf of fresh bread —- I have little regard for the bread. I have little regard for the record.
I am annoyed that he is starting to push the boundaries. He is really just seeing how far he can go each day.
And because he is so quick to apologise and say he is sorry …. then you go “okay my boy, it is okay” and 10 minutes later he is up to the same shit.
I know I should be more “ah, kids will be kids” but seriously! He broke my record, and then hid it from me.
Fitting punishment- I am going to find another one, and make him pay for it.
As he does not earn a salary like other small kids in a third world country, he is going to be on dog shit duty for the next three weeks! No dog shit picking up, no television on the weekends.
I realise I will have my mother’s day gifts retracted quite soon, and my “best mom” sign quietly stolen in the night. Shit happens, and then you send your son to pick it up.
