When I've come to you, wonderful people who read this blog, and vent my frustrations because a hormone poisoned child has rolled her eyes at me, slammed a door, or delivered an invective more venomous than, um, things with lots of venom, I have usually been referring to my oldest daughter. In three short months she is officially a teenager, and from what I have heard, I'm not out of the woods for a while. In fact, I can't even find my damn compass.
But now, now the other daughter is closing in on puberty. And to say it can suck at times? Well, it sucks so much that I think the handsome anal-retentive Dyson Vacuum guy should talk about it on television, next to his immaculately rendered model of the Anti Bitch 3000 - Now With Twice the Suckage. Having two girls about to get their periods living with you, plus the cyclone we call the kindergartner plus the upgraded to Hurricane Jack that is our toddler and I feel like a human punching bag a lot of the time. Like school mornings. Which would be now. Instead of typing this, I really should be whistling a merry tune to my bird friends in the kitchen window while packing their lunches and cooking their breakfast. Instead, I have taken a brief refuge in my office.
So with that opening, I have been mulling something over for a while. I think I need a little time each week with people I didn't birth on a more consistent basis. After eight years, I am thinking about going back to work part-time. Okay - I am opening my eyes. Are you still there? Good! More later...I'm off to make waffles and be pummeled.