Confessions.

You know how sometimes, you get so frustrated and irritated and ancy that you just want to throw something or hit something or SCREAM? I was feeling that way last night. Deeply and profoundly frustrated. When the source of that frustration is a rosy cheeked, blue eyed chubby little 9 month old, however, it is always best to channel that frustration towards something- or someone- more able to defend themselves.

So, since Cosette was fed, clean, and in her pajamas, and although I was rocking her and singing to her and cuddling her in my arms she was still screaming, I decided that she could just as well scream from her crib as from in my arms. So that is where I deposit her- gently, despite my angst- before turning away and quietly, but decisively, shutting the door against her screams.

Next, I walked into my 2 1/2 year olds' room. She is thankfully exiting the terrible-two-tantrums stage, although that doesn't necessarily mean she is always very cooperative. She still likes to test her limits. Often, the threat of going to a time out is sufficient to get her to cooperate- although she will do only exactly what I say- no more and no less. Enough to prevent the time out, but not enough to earn any extra credits. On several occasions I have actually gotten to "3" before she starts to slowly move towards compliance. One time when I asked her if she wanted to go to a time out, she actually responded "Yes." and then walked over and sat in the chair. That completely deflated me. What's the point of a time out if it isn't a punishment? Then there are those times when, in the midst of my frustration, she will do or say something that is just so cute that I have to pause and bask in the glow of my love for her before I start barking out more commands. On this night, however, she did not sense that I was at the end of my rope, and was being her usual non-cooperative self. The cuteness factor was not in play. I was trying not to take out my frustration on her since really she wasn't doing anything wrong, but I was just too tired to play the usual games. Plus, Cosette was still crying in her crib, and that just makes any mother just a little bit unsettled.

So, with a little less patience then usual, I maneuver Juliette into her pajamas. When she complains that she wants to watch Dora, not read a story, I just grab a book, sit in the reading chair, and start reading to myself. It is an evil trick- the temptation is irresistable. Slowly, slowly, she gets closer and closer to me until finally she is in my lap, thumb in mouth, blanky gripped tightly in hand. 45 minutes later, Juliette is in bed and Cosette is finally quiet. I march upstairs. The last person available to take my frustration out on is Greg, and boy is he going to get it. I pick up the phone and dial his cell. Oh, did I mention that he has been away for 5 days now and this is in large part why I am at my wit's end? He doesn't answer the phone- typical- and rather then leave a long angry message I hang up and go downstairs to work all this restless angst out over a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

The ice cream helps. As I begin to relax, my anger leaves me and turns to lonliness. I confess: as much as I might complain that Greg doesn't help out enough, when he is gone I really do miss him. It's the little things that make a big difference: like the fact that when he is home, I can take a shower in the morning without worrying that one of the girls is calling out to me and I can't hear her over the shower. I havn't been able to wash my hair, blow it dry, and get dressed sans interruption, all week. Or, if I am nursing Cosette just before bedtime and the phone rings, he can answer it. Or, when the dog is nudging my leg with her cold wet nose I can call out to Greg to "take care of the dog, can't you see I'm busy with the two girls?" Or the fact that I don't have to go into lock down mode every time I leave the house for fear that Lucy will wreak havoc in anger over being left alone again.

Our family has been rallying to my cause all week, and I really do appreciate their help, but it just isn't the same as having Greg home. So honey, if you actually do read this blog- a rare event- let me reiterate here: I love you, I need you, and you are appreciated.

Update: I might just take it back. The man NEVER answers his phone. If he blames it on a phone malfunction again, I am going to take my pretty new heels that I bought special for his awards ceremony that I as a dutiful wife drove three hours to attend, put them on my cute little size 6 feet, and smash that damn phone into five million little pieces. And then I will feel a lot better.