The last few days have been rocky. All the kids have been a touch on the crabby side, and Danny especially has been emotional. Yesterday afternoon, he cried no less than 5 times over really strange things like the fact that he didn't get to go grocery shopping with me today.
I have decided that this can all be chalked up to Thanksgiving aftershock. The kids are tired from being out of their routine for a long weekend of traveling and family parties, and they need to get back to normal.
I think because Danny is doing so well lately, I forget that he still needs his routines and some down time. Actually, all of us do, but I still seem to have difficulty remembering this.
Anyway, so the point of all that was to illustrate that Danny's been a bit out of sorts this week. Today was no exception. I was on the phone briefly when Charlotte came running into the room screaming. Not an event that is all that unusual around here, as Charlotte has a tendency to be a tad melodramatic at times, so I wasn't too concerned.
Until she showed me a blue bruise where Danny had bitten her.
Yes, he bit her!
I was shocked, appalled and not a little annoyed. What the heck is going on with these kids, anyway?
Danny was punished and we had a little talk about appropriate ways to express anger and frustration--a talk I should probably have given more heed to myself. We set about doing homework, eating dinner, and doing listening therapy.
Then I did something very unwise and cruel. I honestly do not know what possessed me. Can I somehow blame the penicillin shot the doctor gave me for strep this week?
[First, let me just say that I try to avoid holding Santa over the kids' heads in order to get them to behave. I have nothing against Santa. In fact, I have really great memories of him bringing me the Gymnastics Barbie set I wanted one year. What I don't feel comfortable with is using him to
OK, so here's what happened. I was talking with Danny in the kitchen when he mentioned Santa. Which is when an evil spirit took possession of my tongue and I heard myself say the following: "Danny, how do you think Santa feels about you biting your sister?"
And you know what Danny did?
He cried. A full-on, brokenhearted cry. One that would make my mother cringe, as she has no tolerance for hearing one of her grandchildren cry. Or whimper. Or even sigh sadly.
Which is when I had to backpedal and tell him that Santa understands we make mistakes and that as long as Danny is sorry and tries to be better, it will be OK. I almost panicked and promised Danny the $100 Space Police Lego set he's been coveting just to silence the sobs wracking his body.
I felt like the worst mother on the planet.
So, why is it that my mother could give a mean guilt trip in her sleep, she was that good, but when I try, I end up feeling guiltier than my kid does?
On a side note, Danny did behave beautifully the rest of the night......