Conspiracy Theory

Call me Mother of the Year.

I do believe my children are conspiring against me. It is now their job to make sure I get nothing done.

Tula is teething now, which is really not fun for either of us. She's in pain and I can't always make it go away, and I can't make her understand that I want to stop her hurting. More specifically, I'd like to stop her hysterical screaming. And for the record, I'm buying stock in Baby Orajel. Thankfully, the swing still works to calm her down on occasion, so there's that.

Peanut's temper tantrums are at a new high. He's not hitting anymore, and I'm thoroughly grateful for that. That said, the length and volume are spectacular, and I'm at a loss at how to calm him down. It seems that he erupts over the smallest things these days. I suspect he's acting out because of all the time I have to give to Tula, but it's killing me that he thinks the tantrums are the only way to get my attention. I'm doing everything I can to make sure I'm using my "inside voice" but all I want to do is shriek back at him. Not good.

In the meantime, the baby is crying, Peanut is finally done pouting, and the dog is howling. One of these days, I'll get my hearing back. I may even be able to smile again, but right now, I'm a wee bit busy calming my house down. Thanks for listening, kids. And Boomer just pulled into the driveway, ready to give me back my sanity. This is why there's a two-parent system in this house. Maybe I'll get something done after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.