Wow, that was an EPIC parenting fail. First, let me tell you that I am so incredibly fused with anger right now it is making my legs tremble a tiny little bit. Then, I found out that my first week's efforts at focusing on calorie counting (using an app, which makes it very easy and accurate) and on increasing the walks I already have to do with my dogs in an honest and fervent desire to lose some of this weight, was a total loss. I didn't find it particularly hard most days to eat the 1435 calories. One day, I even had to down some peanuts in order to make sure I wasn't down below 1200, which a friend said would "turn down the furnace". The walks hurt though. My shin splints are acting up on both legs, my knees aren't as bad as I thought they would be but they do hurt, and I have had two splits in the skin on my feet from my psoriasis, as in, they tore open to blood. I have been doing planks every few nights for as long as I can hold them, kicks and squats while I wait for the dogs to do their business, and even did some push ups last night. Got on the scale today and haven't lost a single pound. Which is all I was really hoping for- a pound. I honestly would have been happy just to see that tiny little progress. But nope.
So then I am trying to get ready to walk the dogs, and Neil won't stop crying. He doesn't want a hug, he wants "buppy" (me to pick him up). So he is doing his tantrum thing, which I just <<love so much.>> (I already had to diffuse Cilly's tears because she wants to come with me...I told her I would rather have her come with me, but I am really trying to get some exercise and she wouldn't be able to keep up with me) Now he is on the floor crying and I am trying to ignore him and my foot cuts hurt and I'm just so MAD that John isn't here to help with any of this that I just need to do SOMETHING. I have this big plastic cube that has rounded edges and is a dog toy of sorts. I figure that it is sturdy enough I can throw it pretty hard and have no problems, right? Not so much. The f*cker bounces.
I watch in pseudo slow motion as it rebounds up towards the table with all sorts of special framed photos and secretly beg it to not hit them. Which it doesn't. Instead, it collides with the glass globe on the gumball machine we have had forever. And shatters the glass, spraying shards everywhere. After which, time speeds up again, along with my mouth, whose controls connecting it to my brain seem to have been severed, because I start spouting anger at Neil for crying, then at me for being a bad mom and an awful person.
I pick up the shards, hoping to cut myself in the process and failing to do so, then vacuum the rest. Then, Neil finally consents to the hug I offered in place of "buppy" before. So I call him to me, and Cilly comes too, and I at least have the wherewith all to apologize for being crazy, to tell them I do NOT think I am a bad person and a bad mother, I'm just angry that daddy isn't here to help and I am overwhelmed and that really, NONE of this is their fault. I told them I am NOT really actually angry at them right now, but at life. Then I walk the dogs.
Who had already pooped in the house before I got downstairs. At 7:30 on a Saturday morning, because the kids woke me up, screaming and crying and fighting over glow sticks in the bathroom at 6:40. Which could, quite possibly, have helped contribute to the anger stew that has been running in my veins. I don't think you should have to get up before 8 on a weekend unless it is for something fun and exciting. My kids disagree. Just wait till you are teenagers, guys. Payback is gonna be a bitch.
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