Thursday, March 24, 2011
It's desperation, dear Watson
When I was in college I learned a very important lesson. Men can smell desperation and when they smell desperation they run for the hills screaming. I discovered this secret after several dry spells in my dating life, usually preempted by a lousy break-up or a roommate's engagement and a insane desperation for a man.
Fortunately I learned my lesson and hid my desperation well enough to attract a wonderful husband.
I thought I had learned everything I needed to know about desperation, but alas I was so very wrong.
Did you know that children can smell desperation too? The problem with children is they don't run for the hills, which would usually be the desired result. No, they take to desperation like a shark to blood in the water. The start swimming slowly, torturing you before attacking.
I made this unfortunate discovery while standing in the middle of my living room floor staring at a mess only a mini-tornado on two legs could create, ignoring the yanking of my only free hand by an impatient two-year old and fruitlessly attempting to calm my raging four-year old into a simmer.
While my daughter was screaming that she would turn into a monkey if I didn't let her watch a movie and that by not allowing her to play on the playground "right now" I was preventing her from ever doing anything ever again, I reached a peak of sheer horror.
Mount. St. Mommy blew a gasket. I yanked my hand away from my very thirsty, impatient two-year-old and bellowed to my four-year-old emotional volcano that she needed to stop acting like a four-year-old. I know, my logic astounds, doesn't it.
Instead of resulting in silence as I had hoped my yanker started crying and pulling harder and my emotional wreck started sobbing that I had yelled at her and "aren't you my best friend anymore?"
My children are very good at leaving me to my own when I am doing nothing of importance, but as soon as I stand up and start cleaning or making phone calls or making dinner, apparently I am a valuable commodity. I find that I often have at least one child attached to my leg while I move about the house. When my sheer frustration starts to boil over I am dismayed to find two children attached to my legs. Apparently desperate mommy needs some more attention.
So I tend to seek solace in the bathroom. If I can sneak in there quickly and quietly enough I can usually lock the door before they notice I'm missing with my new magazine. I am pretty sure my children, and my husband, think I have a serious bladder problem because I am hidden away for ten minutes at a time, several times a day.
Sometimes I get a glimpse and pure sanity when I am half-asleep on the couch in the morning, because I have been up half the night trying to keep my girls asleep, and they crawl on the couch and cuddle up with me. My two-year old lays her head on my chest and my four-year-old climbs down at my legs and cuddles.
Perhaps they aren't attracted only to desperation.
Posted by Angela Brown at 7:50 AM