bad mama

this week i feel like a bad mother.

i am so tired of arguing with the 3 year old dictator, i can barely see straight after a day alone with him.  by the end of most days, his voice is grating on my last nerve.  i’m also sick of my own voice by the end of the day, hence the sitting on the laptop savoring the quiet after boys have been put to bed.

over dinner tonight the husband and i agreed that the root of the general disagreement of ANYTHING we say and the hyper-drive he goes into is probably the lack of interaction with other kids his age coupled with the crack he must have hidden under his mattress.  where does he find the energy???  can i have some, please?

but thanks to the falling economy and my lack of those things some people have… what was it again?  shit.  wait, don’t tell me…oh that’s right.  a J-O-B.  because i don’t have one (that pays money anyway, believe me, i work hard) we don’t have fund-age to send him to preschool where he desperately belongs.  then there is the rising gas prices that effectively have me stranded 40 miles from most friends, family, family-type activities, free activities, fun, good shopping, healthy foods, basically anything remotely “good”, “fun”, and “free”.

we are going crazy here.  i look at my sweet child and i berate myself for being so “hard” on him when he is just a 3 year old with a healthy dose of intelligence and curiosity.  (maybe too much curiosity.  it can worry a mom.)  he also thinks he knows more than me and likes to boss me around.  and thanks to daddy’s “damn it” outbursts, i have been sworn at all week.  (ok, i don’t have the cleanest mouth either, but i do try to tone it down when little ears are listening)

on an up note however, the child does have a perfect grasp on the word “fucking” and uses it so appropriately, i cannot be mad.  like yesterday when i was trying to get the screen door off to re-screen it.  keep in mind i was not cussing, but i was having a very difficult time getting the damn thing off.  he looks at me, looks at the door and says, “mama?  that’s a fucking door, right?”  all i could say was, “yes it is.  don’t use that word.”  inside i was laughing as hard as i was when he sat down next to me on the couch and said, “hi fucking mama.”  i wasn’t sure whether to commend him on the correct use of the word or put him in a time out for using the word.

ah well, soon he will be a teenager, then an adult, then a father of his own hyper-speed child.  the best (or worst) thing i can do is wish for him a child exactly like him.  the mother’s curse.  *insert evil laughter here*

and now he is sleeping in all his angelic beauty.