One thing that I'm amazed about in regard to being a mother is how fast my mind can play out an entire scenario. Like, in the span of .003 seconds, my brain can have registered that my child has lied to me and where this conversation is going to go... Like last night.
Tuesdays. In the Spring and Summer. I dread them. My husband goes sailing. It's his night out. And while I typically wouldn't mind, it's as if my children have found a colossal shit show pill and collectively take one right when they get home from school. Every Tuesday.
That's not to say we're not a hot mess other days of the week, but Tuesdays are a completely different caliber. This stuff is completely out of the ball park, where two parents would struggle to survive...and I'm alone. Utterly alone. Where was I going with that...oh, right, blink of an eye.
Anyways, fast forward through two separate lying incidents from two separate children, me raising my voice and getting sarcastic with the third who felt the need to butt into the conversation she had nothing to do with - I had finally calmed down. The kids resigned to their punishment of not playing outside on a gorgeous evening and absolutely NO TV.
While coloring not three feet from me, my youngest, brandishing a pair of scissors leans back and cuts her hair. Just cuts it. Then looks over her glasses at me to see if I was looking. Ballsy, that one. I'll admit, I was a little shocked.
Me: Did you just cut your hair?!?
Her: No.
Me: What? Maybe I didn't hear that clearly. Did you just cut your hair?
Her: [rolling her eyes] No.
Me: You DO realize I'm sitting right here. Right. Here. I CAN see you. Would you like to rethink your response???
Now, here's where it got good. My voice was in check as mentally I was chanting to myself, "The windows in the house are open. It's too early in the season for ALL the neighborhood to be reminded that you're psychotic..." Phew. No yelling. And then it happens.
Her face takes about two seconds to go from stunned that I called her out on her BS, to lip quivering near crying to sudden resolution that she is a damned grown assed woman. "YES!" She bites out at me.
[In my mind, I have seen where this conversation goes. I am dumb enough to ask why she did it and her seven-year-old mind tells her it's a great idea to remind me that it IS indeed her hair. At this point, I turn into Faye Dunaway/Joan Crawford and grab the child by the pony tail, drag her into the bathroom where I do something rash like shave her bald...] .003 seconds.
I quickly down shift and decide not to ask the fateful question that will lead us all down the path of ruin. Instead, I decide some things in life are just best left unanswered and I sent her to bed. God help us all.
