If you had read my earlier post, you know I'm feeling "stressed" (major understatement) about getting last-minute things done. At one point, I thought it might be reasonable for the kids to help with the mundane chores of the house for a bit so I could continue to focus on the Florida flurry. They weren't having any of it. I asked them to clean the living room and they walked in and announced, "It IS clean." So I slipped into spazz-Mom mode and I quickly walked around the living room and grabbed whatever I could get my hands on and proclaimed that it was all going to the trash. Panic ensued. Screaming of a kind that I have never heard coming out of a live human being before (except my daughter). I knew my husband would soon put an end to my spazz out, so I just stopped. Then my daughter said, "Well I was in the mood to clean before you did that." My husband came on the scene and he said, "You just need to go to bed.". . . to me. I agreed to this because it was my idea 10 minutes earlier. But I kept fighting like a 10-year-old all the way to my bedroom: "Well, I'm the only one who ever does anything around here and no one else even cares that we live in a pig-sty, and there's no gratitude for all the preparations I'm making, waah, waah, wahh." All the way up to my room. I would have slammed the door, but I was too tired.
Sheesh, I just acted like a kid. You think they'll buy it tomorrow when I tell them I was modeling the wrong kind of behavior?
I hope so.