This post originally appeared on my other blog in January, 2017
It was a tough day today at Traumatic Parenting Workshop HQ. Today was the worst kind of day to be a parent.
My kids fought everything today. They’ve endlessly fought with each other and they’ve tirelessly fought with their mother and me. And it’s not just that I was wrong all of the time… I was actually wrong more than all of the time.
How does this happen? It occurs when you’re told you’re wrong only to have your special snowflake select exactly what was offered. At least I know better than to point this out when it happens. There are no bonus points for being right, especially when you’re wrong, no matter how many times it happens.
My day started when I stubbornly insisted my eldest would be wearing pants to basketball practice. By the time we left for practice 20 minutes later, we were 20 minutes into a tirade/meltdown against the tyranny of my parenting.
Next time I’ll insist she wear tap shoes and a kilt… if I’m going to be wrong, I’m just going to embrace it and go all in.
By the time we got out of the car, I needed a drink. By the time we reached the gym, I was openly craving one. (Wrong! I was craving two!)
It might not yet have been 10:00 in the morning, but it was noon somewhere. I’ve officially become that parent. I wonder if the neighbors think I have a problem, but I don’t have to worry about the other children’s parents. They have kids too.
Even as I type this, I’m thinking about the bottle of Cabo I have in the basement.
As I put my youngest to bed tonight, she wanted to hold my left hand… but she wanted my other left hand. After 30+ minutes of complaining and moaning about not being tired and not needing to sleep, she finally gave in… to sleep mind you… her last words before the snoring started were, “Daddy, why’d you give me that left hand?”
If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the basement. If you had a day like mine, I have just the thing.
Of course, I might be wrong about that.