|The Child and the Po-Po during |
a more peaceful moment this week.
What prompted this, you ask? It was Sunday night, the end of a very long week or the start of another very long week, depending on how you look at it, and my youngest was in full-on drama llama mode. The reason? She had to get her weekly schoolwork signed, and she'd gotten a D+ on a quiz. Yep, on the scale of 1 to saaaaaaaay, Syria, it doesn't even register, right? But she was fast passing upset and moving swiftly to hysterical, with gulps and hiccups and everything.
Now, I'm normally pretty strict about grades and all, but this was the first time she'd ever gotten below a B so I just didn't see the need to go all DEFCON 1just yet. Plus, as I said, it was a long week. You know how it goes, every night had either soccer or riding and the weekend was just as jam-packed. I was brain-dead, and couldn't jump start the old grey matter quickly enough.
|The Child today, showing some mad soccer skilz.|
So inside I was screaming "No! No! No Meltdowns Allowed! Mommy just drove you all over Manhattan most of its boroughs to get you to and from soccer! Stop the crying, I beg of you!" and outside I was saying something more like, "Well, let's look at what went wrong and see what we can do" and pseudo-soothing crap like that. Yeah, what I was offering up was weak, but it was all I was capable of and thank the sweet baby Savior it pacified her.
Crisis averted. For now, at least.
Now Mommy needs a brownie. STAT.