People, re-entry is such a bitch. The children have been beastly poo-bags since I've been home which really picks away at my Italian zen.
Oliver sobbed multiple times today for reasons that, to say the least, I found puzzling.
First, he was vexed beyond repair because our twice-monthly housekeeper, who adores and coddles him, had deigned to make his bed and arrange his four million stuffed friends in a special new way. Because the possibilities of arranging four million stuffed friends are infinite, today's staging was unfamiliar to my delicate flower. Giant, forest fire-quashing tears rolled down his face on and off for a good hour about how his arrangement this morning was SO special and could never be replicated. Puh-lease. He threw the friends on the bed and bailed.
Later, as I lugged in myriad carpet samples, he inquired about them and I informed him that I was so excited because we were finally planning to replace the grody, pee-infused, cat-scratch-ruined, oddly colored, horrid carpet in the basement. I thought he'd be thrilled, because boy does that kid like to shop and spend money.
He was not thrilled but rather sobbed for hours.
"But I LOVE that carpet. WHY? NO!!!!! Can we get the same carpet in the same color but just newer?"
What the eff? No one could love that carpet. No one does love that carpet. I lied and said it isn't made anymore, and he gnashed and wailed with abandon even more than he already was.
"I am having SUCH a bad day."
"Oliver, I can see that. However, I cannot totally understand it because you crafted during choice time and we got a lollipop at the car wash and then your favorite pita and hummus at Cava. Sounds fairly grand to me."
Ol, screaming, "You don't understand. MY FWENDS were in the WONG place on my bed. I do NOT WANT the cawpet to change. This is all SO annoying."
Swear to g that's what he said. Then he asked for his lollipop even though he'd eaten but one pita AND had earlier told me that despite the fabulous lunches the kids are given at school, he today chose to eat: french fries, chocolate milk, and a ketchup sandwich.
Excuse me while I throw up in my own mouth AND veto the lollipop idea.
It all went to hell even more after that.
Meanwhile, Jack is arguing about stupid shit to beat sixty. You should have seen the hateful- and hairy-eyeball look he gave me this morning when I told him he could not wear his pajamas to school. He's like a tiny psychotic. He says and does absurd, mean things and then says, "Mom, I'm sorry, you're the best mom in the WORLD. I love you so much."
Three second pause, and then...
"Mom, WHAT?! All my friends get to wear their pajamas to school... Gawd, mom, that IS a complete sentence... " etc.
"No they don't and/or I don't care, they aren't my kids," and "No, that is most definitely not a complete sentence."
It's almost enough to make me wish I were back on that horrid Lufthansa flight with horrid Thai curry shoved into a calzone purporting to be dinner. Re-vol-ting.
I keep being reminded/told that the kids are subconsciously punishing me because I went away. They aren't purposefully being a-holes, you see, it's just that their tiny little Ids and Egos and lunatic Oedipal tendencies can't take absence-from-Mom so they're getting back at me. Really, the source of all this poo is love.
I really do not care. If that is true, jesus h. Have we evolved not at all? And if we have and that shit has come along with us, then mothers continue to get the short end of the stick.
If it's false, what buggers.
The result is the same which is that I feel a bit deflated and peevish. "A bit" is a lie. I feel maxed-out grr!