Wal Mart can be easily classified as the theatre of the absurd, especially on weekends. I enjoy going there to people watch, but eventually I am going to have to face the reality that by being there, I am one of the absurd and no longer merely an observer. I’m writing a self reflection as this bit of revelation and a few others have forced me to look inward for a bit.
For a few hours each night I absolutely hate my life. The effects of this hatred are destructive and long lasting. For the next hour at least I sit in recovery, either trying to drown the memory of the last couple of hours in the bottom of a beer, or masking them with whatever escape mechanism I can find. I hate my kids for those two hours. It starts around 6 pm when they are fat with fatigue and attitude. They stop listening and start behaving like the lowest form of humanity you can imagine. Every so often one of the three is able to rise out of this torture and does something sweet. This serves as a reminder that I should not kill them outright.
It is a thin and often brief reminder as one of the remaining two will immediately fill that love bubble with the most torturous behavior imaginable. Once, the 5 yr old broke a ceiling fan. Sure, it was an ‘accident’ but it was also the result of highly irresponsible behavior brought about by hours of activity without rest or often even pause. They want to go hard from dawn till dark till dawn scrapes the sky again. By six the lids are heavy and the minds are fighting the effect of such things.
Never tell a kid they may be tired. I think there is something in the brain wired to activate the fight or flight response when a question or accusation of such merit is made. I think that same wiring is rigged to fight in my kids.
“You look sleepy.”
“No I am NOT!!!!”
As if such anger will change the fact that the kid was riding heavy eyelids and falling off the couch. Now had I just shut up, he woulda fallen completely under the spell of the Sandman and I could have avoided him suddenly sitting up and looking for stuff to break. Ten minutes later my blood is up and I want something to kill.
As it stands I have three kids. It shall never be four. If things continue along this trajectory, two or one seem more likely.