My high school self would be laughing/rolling her eyes at me right now.
My high school self was also bitter, naïve, and pretty holier-than-thou, so , hey whatever.
I remember I would see girls get so mad at their boyfriends (or sports or something) that they’d throw their cell phones against a wall, or dudes would get so mad about . . . well dude things . . . that they’d punch their lockers. I always laughed at this, because the result was always either A) a broken cell phone or B)a broken hand.
Well, folks, turns out I’m not immune to those temper tantrums.
Things started out innocently enough. We’ve been pretty bad about Charlie zoning out on cartoons almost immediately after he wakes up, so I thought, “Hey, let’s have a fun activity planned for tomorrow morning!” I had just bought some new boxes of food coloring and decided that an impromptu bath with shaving cream paint would be just the ticket.
The problem was that Lucy had woken up earlier than Charlie, and she was starting to show signs of wanting a nap. I thought I could get some breakfast in Charlie, mix up the shaving cream paint, and get the bath going while she played with a few toys on the floor.
Turns out Lucy was much more ready for a nap than I thought. Sometimes Lucy’s screaming rubs Charlie the wrong way, so he started to get a little whiny. So, here I am, trying to get this fun activity all ready so that I could feed Lucy, get her to sleep, and then try to actively participate with Charlie . . . except that Lucy was screaming like a 20 year old college theatre student helping her buddy out with his indie horror film, Residence Hall of Horror.
Finally, I just gave up and let her scream on the floor while I got the bath ready. I get Charlie stripped and in the bath, gather up the screaming lump on the rug, and go in to tell the three year old that “I’m going to feed Lucy, so you play for a few minutes and I’ll be right in.”
This is when Charlie sticks his finger in one of the paint cups, disinterestedly wipes it on his leg, and says, “I want to get ourra the bath, Mom.” (“Ourra” means “out of,” and it’s usually terribly cute.)
You guys, I’m serious, my face almost exploded. I just turned around, laid Lucy down on the bed, walked into the kitchen, and threw the box of food coloring against the wall so hard it made my shoulder hurt.
Did I feel better after that? Oh, you betcha.
I was lucky. I could have ended up with a wall covered in instantly-staining food dye, effectively giving myself more work than I already had.
So. Dear High School Self,
You should probably wipe that smug look off of your face. Your time is coming, lady.
A much squishier, more exhausted, totally wiser version of yourself.