I turned into That Parent when I wasn’t looking. I don’t know if it was inevitable, or if it was brought on by these recent feelings of simply ping-ponging between the kids’ needs, but somewhere inbetween finding-a-therapist-for-Monkey, now back to setting-limits-for-Chickadee, now back over here to deal-with-this-school-meeting-for-Monkey, then back again to find-a-new-specialist-for-Chickie, I became That Parent. The one who delivers a single, terrible indictment, then turns and walks away.
“Please take the door off the hinges. Your bedroom door is gone until further notice.” Later, I said to Otto, “I am so angry about this, you have no idea.”
“Actually I do,” he answered. “I know you’re beyond furious because you didn’t even yell. Chickadee’s terrified.” He had a point. I always yell. I wish I didn’t, but it’s true. She was right to be terrified.
I can’t tell the story of what led up to it, but today at Off Our Chests I’m talking about what followed after. I don’t know if hindsight will be kind to us on this one, but I can hope, I guess.