pass the bad mothering award over here…
the girls spent the whole morning preparing their “play,” setting it up and rehearsing, making signs and tickets. I told them I’d attend as soon as I’d had a shower, cause, let’s face it… much as we love our kids, as sweet as the whole thing is, there’s still a measure of pure, unadulterated torture involved in such things.
apparently the whole thing is set to “Sebastion Sings,” which is a spin off tape of The Little Mermaid. for the first three songs, it consists of babyjane dancing while emma appears to sleep. of course, babyjane can’t stay interested that long and comes to sit with me. then diva-emma Can’t Go On and has a full-on spaz. she won’t go forward and I know if we stop the day is ruined for everyone.
and here I am, nearly catatonic myself, trying desperately to feign remote interest in ANY of it. and I can’t really fault emma her paralyzed theatrics… I mean, that’s exactly my own m.o., now isn’t it?
emma does the same things I did as a kid, saying something so quietly it can’t be heard, then when asked to repeat herself, with deep pain in her voice she sighs, “nothing…” AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGH!
and what is it with the whole, I can’t hear anything YOU say the first time? even though I am consciously ennunciating at a decent volume. everything I say in the house has to be repeated, not because they can’t hear me but because they are not listening.
and no one can speak to me without first saying, “mom?” even if I’m looking straight at them, even if we’ve been speaking moments before. “mom?” which requires, of course, a RESPONSE, and can I just say that lately every fucking word saps my spiralling energy?
and the next time I am asked for a snack I swear to all that is holy, I WILL put my head in the oven. fat lot of good it will do. damned electric appliances.