- IT ALL STARTED WHEN Smokey would not leave my side. Or, more accurately, would not get out from under me. I dealt with the chewed-up carpet with grace and dignity. I handled the little yellow puddle he left by the backdoor calmly and quietly. But it was his constantly being underfoot that sent me into a fit of rage this afternoon.
- I SPIRALED DOWNWARD from there, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and practically tossing him out the door into the garage, yelling at the top of my lungs, "I wish I never got you!", thus scarring him for life, and teaching him bad grammar at the same time.
- MY TANTRUM CONTINUED inside the house where I tripped over Shadow, who was a mountain in the middle of the kitchen where I was trying to cook dinner. "Get out of here! And stop breathing!" I knew I was just being mean at that point.
- THERE WAS NO TURNING BACK, and Darcy knew better than to come within 10 feet of me. She wisely ran and hid under Cheyenne’s bed. "And stay there!" I screamed at her, just for good measure, right before I started to bawl like a baby.
- I CAME BACK DOWN TO EARTH when I turned around and saw Mia, standing in the corner of the room looking scared and unsure. Here I was, her pillar of strength, crumbling. Nothing upsets like an upset parent, and Mia switched from her normal whine (which I had tuned out just to get through the day) to this small, pitiful voice, "Mommy…hug?"
Nothing will put you in your place like a 1 year old with tears brimming in her big brown eyes. I feel plain evil. I know I don’t handle stress well, I know my limits, and I knew it was just a matter of time before I went psycho on the dogs, but to do it right in front of my kid…what kind of mother am I? It’s one thing for her to see me a tad upset; it’s an entirely different thing to witness the ultimate wrath of me–if it strikes fear into the heart of my big manly husband, than I know it freaked out the baby.
I’m sure Caleb will read this and be horrified at the way I treated our precious pets. It is doubtful he will ever feel comfortable enough with my mental stability to leave me alone with our daughters again. (And baby, for the record, when I yelled at Shadow to "Stop breathing"–I didn’t mean "Die!", I just meant "Stop breathing SO HARD.") And after reading a few of the comments from yesterday’s blog, I’m positive that some of you will shake your heads and wonder what in the hell a woman like me is doing with so many animals in the first place…and I’d have to say I’m totally with you in thinking it.
I spent all evening trying to make ammends with every offended family member, going so far as to give the dogs a quick bath–they hated it, I hated it–everybody’s happy…or, not happy. I took a million deep breaths when Smokey knocked a bowl of dogfood out of my hands and onto the ground, and I brushed Shadow for a good hour. We’re all even now.
I gave extra special attention to Mia, so that she would see me as her Rock of Gibraltar once again instead of the stark-raving lunatic I became right before her very eyes. My, how the mighty have fallen.