Stormy, Inside and Out
Two days without the "30-Plus" pills so far. Finally got my period today (I just know you all wanted to know that)...think it's only about 3 weeks late this time. That's pretty good considering it's usually about 3 months too late.
Anyway, that's not what I was coming in here to tell you. I came here to vent and scream instead. But I've since calmed down, so I'm feeling less like a, well, screamer.
I picked Ryan up from school today because it was raining. I didn't have to, but I chose to because I knew he would appreciate it. I only did what any other mum would do basically. It turns out it was a bad idea. Not only did I get saturated and blown about by the gale force winds, I found my son in a less than happy mood, with the look of thunder on his face.
He'd had a bad day apparently...he spotted the car...got in...I took one look at the expression and asked "What's up hun?"...his response was rude and disrespectful and had us driving home in silence. When he's like this, I know it's best to give him time to settle before the 'approach', so I shut my mouth. (You didn't know I could do that, did you?)
We got in the house and Cameron raised his eyebrows in question, as he watched his younger brother storm passed to his room. I shrugged. Then tried to relay the little information I had as I carefully placed cups into the dishwasher....by the time the second sentence was out of my gob, I was practically throwing them in (no breakages, yay for resilient crockery).
What started off as a quiet and rational recount, turned into me yelling at Ryan through his bedroom door about how he needed to learn some respect. And I swore...alot...what's more, I don't care. He's 15, he knows what cussing is, he knows what the words mean, and he knows when he shouldn't be using them. More importantly, he knows that when his mother uses them, he's crossed the line. So quite frankly, right at this moment, I don't care that I yelled "Fuck it Ryan!...I don't deserve to be treated like SHIT for something I didn't do!"
I slammed into my bedroom, threw myself dramatically on the bed and snorted like an angry bull for 10 seconds. Slammed and stomped my way back to the lounge, heard Cameron ask quietly if I was ok, which then made me feel like crap for acting like a tantrum-throwing toddler. I went and yanked Ryan's ethernet cable out of the back of the router.
I ended up in the shower, my forehead against the wall, bawling like a baby and wondering WHY I had been feeling so devastated about the thought of my kids leaving home. At this rate, they'll be leaving a lot faster than I'm expecting.
I'm going to start receiving packets of 30-Plus pills in the mail now aren't I? *sigh*
Anyway, that's not what I was coming in here to tell you. I came here to vent and scream instead. But I've since calmed down, so I'm feeling less like a, well, screamer.
I picked Ryan up from school today because it was raining. I didn't have to, but I chose to because I knew he would appreciate it. I only did what any other mum would do basically. It turns out it was a bad idea. Not only did I get saturated and blown about by the gale force winds, I found my son in a less than happy mood, with the look of thunder on his face.
He'd had a bad day apparently...he spotted the car...got in...I took one look at the expression and asked "What's up hun?"...his response was rude and disrespectful and had us driving home in silence. When he's like this, I know it's best to give him time to settle before the 'approach', so I shut my mouth. (You didn't know I could do that, did you?)
We got in the house and Cameron raised his eyebrows in question, as he watched his younger brother storm passed to his room. I shrugged. Then tried to relay the little information I had as I carefully placed cups into the dishwasher....by the time the second sentence was out of my gob, I was practically throwing them in (no breakages, yay for resilient crockery).
What started off as a quiet and rational recount, turned into me yelling at Ryan through his bedroom door about how he needed to learn some respect. And I swore...alot...what's more, I don't care. He's 15, he knows what cussing is, he knows what the words mean, and he knows when he shouldn't be using them. More importantly, he knows that when his mother uses them, he's crossed the line. So quite frankly, right at this moment, I don't care that I yelled "Fuck it Ryan!...I don't deserve to be treated like SHIT for something I didn't do!"
I slammed into my bedroom, threw myself dramatically on the bed and snorted like an angry bull for 10 seconds. Slammed and stomped my way back to the lounge, heard Cameron ask quietly if I was ok, which then made me feel like crap for acting like a tantrum-throwing toddler. I went and yanked Ryan's ethernet cable out of the back of the router.
I ended up in the shower, my forehead against the wall, bawling like a baby and wondering WHY I had been feeling so devastated about the thought of my kids leaving home. At this rate, they'll be leaving a lot faster than I'm expecting.
I'm going to start receiving packets of 30-Plus pills in the mail now aren't I? *sigh*
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