I should be a hard-ass. I know I should, but I’m not. Let me start at the beginning. Our daughter is home from school today. She woke up complaining of a headache; actually she said “My head feels like it’s going to explode.” I thought it was leftover pain from a self-inflicted injury: a sleepover. (Why do they call it that when nobody sleeps? And why have one when the girl you’re visiting has to get up early to go to church the next day? That’s another post.)
Anyway, I sent the vibe of guilt to Sarah and she eventually dragged herself out of bed. She complained that her ear hurt, but–and this is the part that drove me to Mommy Smash mode–she wouldn’t take anything for it. Then she starts giving me attitude. “You’re gonna force me to go to school.” I told her that she wasn’t vomiting, didn’t have a fever, so yes I’m going to make her go to school. She gave off waves of resentment. Oceans of attitude. On one cup of coffee, whining gets on my nerves. I blew up.
“You see this?!” I yelled, while waving a bottle of Aleve at her. “It’s pain medication! If you’re in pain, you take it! You don’t sit there whining about having a headache and then refuse to do anything about it, expecting me to tiptoe around you! You’re not responsible!”
It felt good to yell at her. Yes, I said that.
She bolted into her room, crying and gulping. After a few minutes I went to her. She cried. We hugged. I didn’t apologize for blowing my top. Yes, I said that.
I tucked her into bed. My bed, actually. There’s something extra comforting about sleeping on Mommy’s pillow. Then I called the school. You know what happened next. I’ll let her sleep in. Maybe she’s coming down with something. If she feels better later, I’ll take her to school.
A tougher parent would’ve dragged her to school with the kid still in their pajamas. I may go into Mommy Hulk mode sometimes, but I’m not cruel.
I’m gonna go check on my kid.