My daughter is abusive. If you see me walking around with bruises and/or tiny handprint marks, don’t blame Zach, blame my 16-month-old. Right now, she is playing swords with my almost 5-year-old and laughing. Not a cute, I’m a baby laugh, but like an evil laugh. One akin to what the Wicked Witch of the West would do. Don’t know how to get her to stop. We’ll be playing and snuggling, she’ll get a cute little grin on her face then wind up and smack me. Open fist smack. Makes noise and everything. I’m concerned, she seems to delight in it a bit too much. We’ve done everything we can think of and yet, she continues.
She and Trysten are really starting to enjoy playing together (side from the times that she slaps him and he cries, then she cries then I cry). It really is the cutest thing and it makes me very excited to have yet another one thrown in the mix within the next few months. It will be chaos but it will be joy, it thrills me.
We survived another couple days without Zachary again. The kids showed signs of missing their dad early in the week but were able to come through for me and were all kinds of fun (save for the aforementioned slapping).
I got the crud that the kids and Zman had. DARN-IT-ALL. I tried telling him my body won’t get sick during the holidays because I’m too happy. Alas, my miserably bad immune system failed me again. Owell, don’t tell my pharmacist of a sister but I’m finishing Zach’s meds off for him see if we can save on the $10 co-pay. Very “green” if you ask me.
Still no movement on the house. Z and I learned that, in order to save the marriage, we must make “house” a 4 letter word and never speak of it again. When someone asks about it, we “shh” them quicker than you can say “No talking in the library” and pretend that we live in our old house. I often find myself going into a fetal position and wishing we were in a different house, but alas I uncurl and find the chant “there’s no place like home” only takes me to here…home. Yippee kai yi yay motha …. you get the idea.
Here’s to at least one day of no violence, no sore throats and a strong wind blowing the top of this house down (all of us being okay, obviously), oh yeah, and an email that says we can go pick up Tariku.