Not just yesterday, the last two or three days, really. I'm not even sure why. I am sure I have not been a good Dad or person these last few days. Maybe I'm not sleeping well - though I think I am. Maybe I'm not happy - though I think I am. Maybe I'm stressed out - though I have no reason to be. Heck, January was the best month for this blog by nearly any measure.
|The Robes broke up shortly after this show. |
Our piano player was moody.
As you might have guessed by this point, showing too short a trigger with the kids is one of my Daddy Regrets. And as I've said previously: most of this is my fault.
Unfortunately, all too often I've gone right to ugly. Do not pass Go, do not collect anything but regret and angsty children.
One situation in particular: I was giving the kids a bath the other day, which when I tell you it is a task, it is a task. It requires me to sit in the bathroom pretty much the entire time one of the children is in the tub. For triplets, that is pretty much 7:15 to about 8:10, right up to bedtime. So I'm spending pretty much a full hour in there until its all said and done. And I've already left a piece of my soul in the other bathroom.
During this ordeal, my son asks if he can "type." I should explain that he loves typing on the computer. I initially told him no, because I would be in the bathroom for the next hour. You have to realize: when you are in the bathroom for an hour while two 4 year olds run around the house unsupervised pretty much anything can happen, as it sometimes does to kids as brainy and footsy as them.
You can leave the house completely intact and structurally sound, and when you escape your porcelain prison find it in a condemned state. And there is nothing you can do about it, except the equally distasteful option of risking a child drowning. Given the option of seeing your home become a condemned disaster zone and a child drowning you pick the disaster zone. Every time.
But I also don't want to create unnecessary conflict. And he loves typing so, so much. So I got the computer set up and ready to go. Did I tell him not to print anything? I thought I did. Regardless, he printed something. And not just any old something - he printed 61 pages. Something like 3 of them had any actual stuff on them. His name; the names of his brother and sister. But EVERY SINGLE ONE had a page number, so its not like I could reuse them.
It frustrated me. He saw it. He hadn't known what he was doing, of course. And he was sorry. I told him it was alright, just listen to Daddy next time. We don't want to waste paper. But the damage was done.
Not to the paper. We couldn't reuse it, but its paper. No; I had taken a beautiful, nice, fun thing my son loved and turned it ugly. How deep can a parent dig a hole before they can't climb out any more?
All because I was quick to anger. At least that was my fear.
If this was a one-time event it would be one thing. But it happens all too frequently. I'm not even sure what the answer is, except more awareness and deep breaths.
PART II LATER THIS WEEK: ARE THERE ANSWERS SOMEWHERE; ANYWHERE?
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