When I was a child, my sister and I could not chew gum or eat potato chips in the car because the sound would drive one of my parents right out of their tree. It was one of the childhood moments that both mystified me and later became part of my list of things I would NEVER say as a parent. How can anyone care THAT MUCH about a small noise I wondered?
Today I am humbled by the restraint it must have taken for said parent not to open the car door and leave us perched on the guardrails for the next available circus recruiter.
For today, my oldest has followed me from room to room clicking her tongue, hissing, and singing in the vibrato soprano known especially to four year old girls for no fewer than two hours. When this concert ended, the ghostly wailings and moanings began. At the end of this round, we were presented with an operatic rendition of "I'm starving and I need a peanut butter sandwich". (It closed to mixed reviews.)
It is taking everything I have not to scream and pull hair, (mine or anyone else's). This is the kind of moment when I think I might be slightly too crazy to be a parent. When I finally broke and snapped between clenched teeth, "Please go and sing somewhere else. Away from me. Away!" She left the room singing in vibrato "Somewhere else, somewhere else, somewhere else." I counted 32 repetitions before she moved on to random beatbox noises.
Are you freakin' kidding me?!? I may not survive this.
Now that I have used my self-imposed time-out to fly the parenting distress flag, I need to go and be a Mama again.
One with earplugs.
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