Sunday, June 26, 2011

Licking wounds

Last week I thought that we and another couple had made plans to take all our kids to see Cars 2.  Such plans are always fluid, depending on behaviors, weather, schedules...but my kids were awfully excited. 

On Thursday I was supposed to get a call/text/email from my friend for two purposes: to possibly do something Thursday afternoon, and to finalize plans for this weekend. 


It's not the first time I've been expecting to hear from her and haven't. For the most part, I tend to chalk it up mostly to just who she is (no judgement intended) and it doesn't really bother me. In most other ways, everything is copacetic. 

When Saturday came and I still hadn't heard anything, I just figured that she had decided not to go. And then the Facebook post came. They did, indeed, go. 


Nursing wounded feelings already, I spend the evening hanging with the kids. R didn't feel well, and was lying down. Shortly before bedtime, with no one upset or throwing an tantrum or fighting. S walks by me and says all nonchalantly, "I don't care about you."

Double ouch. 

I'm mentally prepared for slamming doors and shouts of "You're so MEAN! I hate you!" and such. I mean, I remember clearly saying that to my mom when I was younger when I was really angry.

But I never thought that things would be going well and my four year old daughter would turn to me and be all, 'Yeah, I don't care about you'. Not for one second. 

So today I've been keeping my distance a bit, I mean, I've been around but not fully engaged. As I'm getting ready to go the commissary (after I've showered and dressed, mind you) S walks up with this little smile and says - "Here, Mommy" and tries to hand me a yellow elastic pony tail holder. 

"Thanks, honey, but I don't need it. My hair is too short to put up in a pony tail."

"You do need it. Your hair looks bad."

Gee, thanks, kid. I'll have fun spending your college money on manicures and funky socks. 

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