Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

I know it's a little early, but I don't know where else to turn. Do you remember last year I asked you for a little patience? Well, what I should have done was to ask you for a heaping dose of the stuff as I've gone and run clean out of it!

I mean seriously! I am going mad. As much as I love my girls, they are quickly turning my once lustrous locks a cold, steel, grey. My blood pressure is spiking on an hourly basis and my teeth are just about ground to nothing from the stress of it all.

Take for example tonight; After removing the tiny one from her precarious perch on top of the wheel of the old fashioned pram in the sitting room, which she was balancing on while trying to reach the empty cardboard box that sat within it, I headed back to the kitchen to continue screwing the child locks onto the cupboard doors.

Ten seconds later, my mammy senses were tingling and I went back into the sitting room only to find that my intrepid explorer had returned to her perch the moment I'd left and retrieved from the pram her true goal, my sewing kit.

As the snot queen merrily danced about the couch with a pair of scissors and her red headed cohort ran laughing around the room with a handfuls of needles, a red mist descended over my vision and I made a mental dash to the patience bank only to find it was empty. The well had run dry.

I lost it.

I cursed and swore and raced about the place grabbing sharp implements out of chubby hands and throwing my sewing equipment back into it's box with a vigour that was perhaps a little stronger then necessary.

I shouted and screamed about safety and danger and how they were NOT under ANY circumstances, to touch mommy's sewing box. The tiny one, who had already moved on to her next target, didn't take much notice of my ranting, but her sister did.

Her sister, who hadn't gone near the box until someone else had opened it, and who had been so happy to see me when I came into the sitting room and showed me her treasure, was now bent over the couch crying her heart out.

I felt horrible.

I bent down and pulled her into my lap and made the best comfort noises I could while guilt ate a ginormous hole in my belly.

Yes, what they'd been doing was dangerous. And Yes, they'd needed to be stopped, but did I really need to lose it like that?

So Santa, if you're listening right now and you've got a few spare bags of patience lying about the place, I could really use a few of them right about now.


Mammy x