I managed to not complete NaBloPoMo, though I am not feeling too badly about it. I did blog a lot this month and now feel like I am back in the groove. For me the exercise served its purpose. As for the rest of my non-blogging week...well, sometimes parenting is like 120% hard.
Today I had to pull the doorknob off Liz's bedroom door in a grand gesture re:not locking mommy and daddy out of your room because that makes it really hard for us to help you when you have a nightmare. I absolutely hate to start regulating the doors on bedrooms, it is kind of a squicky area for me, but safety and all that. In short, I grew up very much aware that I had no space that was "mine." Not to sound like I had some tragically restricted childhood, my parents were very permissive and supportive in so many ways, but I always knew that while it might be my room, it was my parents property. It was kept clean and styled to their standard and my mother made no bones about the fact that she would, and did, go in that room and rummage in the drawers/desk/closet whenever she felt like it. Privacy was something you got when you paid your own rent. So yeah, I hate to start telling the girls they can't lock their doors and regulate traffic in their own areas, but as a 4 year old there are too many times I do need to get in there right now. We settled on no locked doors, but we all need to knock and ask to enter when going in someone else's room. Seems like heavy material for 4 and 6.5.
These kids really will be the death of me. Today it was super rainy and when they were sent to the car so we could drive the tenth of a mile to the bus stop and avoid the wall of water, I come out to find them standing ankle deep in a puddle, umbrellas upside down collecting rain and the two of them staring at the car like the monkeys with the monolith in 2001: A Space Oddesey. Jesus H. Jones, is this what my helicopter parenting has created? Kids who will literally stand in the rain until they drown? With all that I have taught them, how is It that they have failed to learn to take a goddamn step to help themselves? Of course, Chris at 31 is often also completely unable to figure out the next step, like when faced with a dishwasher full of clean dishes and a meal's worth of dirty ones, and he does just fine. Maybe I just need to let this play itself out.
Add in Liz's sudden refusal to go to her previously enjoyed story time and organizing our upcoming tonsillectomy...I am knackered. I am sure this too shall pass, but goddess have mercy, this job can wear you down. Sometimes I wonder how is it that I have know these tiny people all their lives, yet everything about them is such a mystery to me.