So, I guess I am not as much of a master of my frustration as I thought. I had a pretty rough morning. The contractors got here at 8:00 this morning to finish laying the wood floor. I went to bed around 2:30 a.m., so the last thing I wanted to hear was sawing and pounding five and a half hours later. I also hate the thought of strange men roaming around our house while I am in my pajamas, so I had T bring me up some breakfast. I laid around for awhile trying to drown out the noise and catch some much-needed shut-eye, but the effort was fruitless.
I had a play-date scheduled for 11:00 a.m but really wanted to squeeze in some treadmill time. After I walked rather than ran to protect my hips, I was way behind schedule. Q was having a horrible morning, screaming and crying and clinging to me legs. Then of course the dog pooped on the carpet and tried to steal Q's stuffed seal. I felt tears spring up in my eyes. I was going to be almost an hour late, I was tired, and my child and dog were stressing me out.
I called T and asked him to come home for ten minutes while I took a few deep breaths and tried not to get mad. The last thing I want to do is scream at Q or smack the dog. I just don't want to be that kind of mom. It helped to have T come home, finish getting Q ready and help us get out the door.
Spending a couple hours at my friend's house made me feel a lot better before going into work. I briefly considered cancelling and laying down and sulking, but I am glad I just sucked it up and kept going.
Maybe I don't have this patience thing down just yet.
--MM
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