Shame

As part of our return to normalcy yesterday, my temper flared up. I said something that I regretted to one of the kids. Again. Nothing major that will have any lasting impact, and it did turn out OK in the end, but, no excuse.

G had fallen out of her chair earlier in the morning. And then fallen off a stool. The child NEVER stops moving. Constantly wiggling and fidgeting, she's always swinging her legs or hopping around and prefers to do her schoolwork practicing handstands. I finally threatened to send her to school where she would be forced to sit still forty-five minutes at a pop. Then I suggested we practice it at home, and I'd even ring a bell to let her know when she could move, or eat, or use the toilet, all at the top of my lungs.

Things settled down a bit, until she fell off her chair again. I yelled that in public school, children who fall off their chairs get put in the 'special class'. She affected a nerd voice and started pretending to be excited about being in a special class, which fortunately broke the tension and cracked everyone up.

But I still feel bad. She's such a sensitive little kid, a hard, stony exterior, but soft on the inside. A lot like me, too much like me maybe... I'll never forget the horrible things my mother did and said to me. I never wanted children for fear I'd only perpetuate that ugliness, and here I am. Great.