A funny thing happened on the way to my blog post

**Sometimes when I start a post, I have a specific topic in mind, but as I write things go completely in a different direction. I usually hit "delete" and they get lost to cyberspace. But today I'm posting one, because I think it is exactly what I want to say.

I just haven't been myself lately. I don't know what is wrong - maybe I've got a touch of the SAD or something. I'm just totally unmotivated to do anything - eat well, workout, clean my house, blog. And I've been super-duper grumpy. I haven't had a visit from my Aunt Flo in over 3 months, so perhaps hormones are to blame. And I am still recovering from pneumonia, so I'm sure lingering illness is to blame. But I just feel blah - and like a fat, lazy, bee-otch.

My poor sweet girls have been bearing the brunt of it. I've lost my temper with them far too much, and they don't deserve it.

Last week, my husband was working late, and I was doing my best to be supermom. I had just started the bath for the girls and sent Bryn in to potty. I got G in the water and turned off the faucet, but I could still hear water running and dripping. Bryn was still inside the closet that houses our toilet, with the door shut, but I could tell that the water was coming from in there. To my horror, I saw that water was coming from under the door. She had flooded the bathroom (apparently because she tried to flush an entire roll of toilet paper, and kept flushing, and flushing, and flushing to make it go down).

I suppose it is pretty humorous now, but at the moment I wasn't laughing. I'd had a long day, and was looking forward to getting the girls to bed so I could pound out my frustration on the treadmill. Instead, I was going to be mopping the bathroom. I began to clean up the water, and the more I cleaned, the more rage filled me, and I'll admit that I got right in Bryn's face and yelled at her. What she had done was naughty (because she'd done the same thing the night before, only with not as drastic results), but she certainly didn't deserve the verbal lashing I gave her.

She simply hung her head and got into the bath. I proceeded to wash her while she remained sullen - I knew she felt badly, but I was still fuming. I washed her hair and body without either one of us speaking. After about 5 minutes, she finally broke the silence:

"Mommy," she said, her big green eyes filled with tears, "I so berry sorry I flooded the bathroom."

Ouch. Her sweet apology melted my heart and I was instantly sorry for being so mad. I hugged her naked, wet body, and we both cried. I told her how sorry I was for yelling, and explained that I loved her more than anything.

A normal person would have learned from this, and tried to be nicer. But not me. Apparently I need lots of lessons. This one came from G, a couple of days after the flooded bathroom incident.

It was a Friday - my day off. Bryn was playing in her room and G was helping me hang up daddy's shirts inside our big, walk-in closet. While she was in there, she noticed a headlamp that actually worked. So, she decided to go spelunking in the closet. She got behind the clothes, and moved along the wall looking for treasures - but all she found were boring boxes filled with things like mommy's old maternity clothes. She was undeterred, and was sure there must be something of value in there. She moved all the boxes into the center of the closet and dumped them out - all in the space of just a couple of minutes.

This was very uncharacteristic of her - Bryn is my mess-maker and G is usually the one who likes things clean. So, needless to say, I was shocked when I looked inside the closet to see if she was finished hanging up the clothes and saw the huge mess she had made. We were supposed to me making things cleaner, not making them more messy. And I was mad. This time at least, I refrained from yelling, but I told her very firmly that she was going to clean up the mess.

Defiance took over, and she told me there was no way she was cleaning up. She was done cleaning. It was time to play. She and I have such similar personalities that we actually butt-heads quite often and this time was no different. Neither one of us was backing down: I insisted she was going to clean, and she refused. We argued over it so long, that we probably could have had it cleaned up if we'd worked together.

But, I'm the mommy. I was going to win this one. So, I told her that she was not coming out of the closet until it was done and I shut the door (there is a light in there, so it isn't nearly as bad as it sounds). She screamed. She cried. She banged on the door. But she knew she was defeated, and eventually cleaned up. When she was done, she sulked out of the closet and proclaimed me the worst mommy ever.

"That is just fine," I calmly told her, "Maybe you want a new mommy."

"Yes," she said. "I do want a new one."

Good. I can play the reverse psychology game. I told her to pack her things, and that I would take her to the orphanage. She could live there and then maybe one day, a new mommy would come and take her home. But the orphanage is awful - there would be no one there to play with her, no one to hug her, and she may never have another mommy again. And she will have to do lots of chores there, every day, and won't have nearly as much time to play. Am I really so bad that she would choose the orphanage over me?

Apparently I really am that bad. The orphanage sounded better than having to live with the mommy she has.

So, we started to pack her things. I really didn't expect it to get that far. I was devastated, and I was fighting back tears. But not G. She remained emotionless. It broke my heart. I won't bore you with the details, be we did eventually make up - after many tears and hugs (from both of us).

A few days later, G crawled up in my lap and put her head on my shoulder.

"Mommy?" she asked, "Do you remember that orphanage place that I was going to live at one?"

"Yes, sweetie, I remember."

"Can I work there when I grow up? Those kids really need someone to love them."

AH. Some days I feel like the worst mother. My kids teach me way more than I teach them.