Our kids are incredibly busy with sports and other activities. OUr oldest daughter, who is 14, has been the main busybody of the house for several years, so our evenings and weekends have usually revolved around her activities. Practices, games, youth groups, and the like.
Now that my youngest daughter is 9 and a big-deal 3rd grader, she is also beginning to get involved in more activities. As we stand right now, we have some kind of scheduled activity every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday night of the week. There’s gymnastics, soccer practices, Awanas, basketball practice… and thats just my youngest child.
Add to my hectic lifestyle a full-time job, and mix in a husband that works full-time AND goes to school. Yes, you heard me right. He goes to school Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights, leaving me to fend for myself. It’s no wonder we eat out a lot and live out of the truck.
The last couple weeks have included the H1N1 flu running its crazy course through my household, and most recently, the addition of a new puppy that doesn’t really care to sleep much at night. All of this wrapped combined equals one crabby mom. I’m running on very little sleep, my friends.
With so much going on, we’ve gotten to the point where we are overloaded. But we don’t know what to give up. Thankfully, soccer is almost done, so that will free up two nights of the week… but one of this nights will be replaced by basketball. I basically just get through each day, collapse into bed each night, and get up in the morning to start it all over again.
So the other night, in a moment of weakness and sleep deprivation, I called my daughter a bitch.
Seriously, how does that grab ya?
I’m not joking. I called my nine-year-old sweet beautiful brown-eyed daughter a bitch.
Let the judging begin.
When picking up my youngest daughter from gymnastics Monday night, she got into the truck in a horribly crabby mood. She was tired, I could tell. It had been yet another night of drive-thru dinner and “hurry-up-so-we-can-get-to-________.” Older daughter and I were talking to her, and every response was snippy and snotty. She was grouchy and it was only my seatbelt holding me in and the fact that I couldn’t reach around to the backseat that she was safe from me.
(When did nine-year-olds get THE ATTITUDE anyways?)
I had finally had enough of her smart mouth and her, well, BITCHINESS so I let her have it.
“Jeez, Courtney, why don’t you stop being such a — BITCH!”
As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I knew I had made a mistake. She got very quiet, and then I heard her crying. The word “Bitch” just floated in the air like we let a skunk loose in the vehicle. It was horrible, and I couldn’t get it to go away. I couldn’t take it back. I had said it.
GOD, I feel like a bad mom. I just get so very tired of hauling kids every night of the week, and THIS is how I get paid back? The smart mouth and sassiness? There is not a chance in hell that either of the kids would ever talk to my husband like that. He wouldn’t stand for it, and they wouldn’t dare try.
Sadly, I am out of the running for the Mother of the Year award.
Unless, of course, I can come up with something awesome for the talent competition.
