*Note: I wrote this to be hilarious and facetious, the eye-rolling rant that I say to myself during tantrums. But almost everyone I've shared it with so far has had the same reaction: "I'm sorry today was so rough!" No. Wrong. Your reaction to this should be laughter and eye-rolling and the clinking of imaginary glasses, followed by cries of "To Motherhood! To marriage! To leaving husbands to take care of bedtime, so we can go to Target alone! Etc!" Also, Travis and I are very happily married, due in part to our ability to forgive each other. (I forgive him when he is a baby, he forgives me when I post about it online.)*
An Apology (poetically):
I am sorry.
I did not realize that your
total, current, and future happiness
depended so entirely
on the size and shape of your graham cracker.
Now that your cracker is broken
into two squares, it must
taste and look repulsive.
Its perfect, golden rectangularness
was the only thing keeping you
from spiraling into the darkness
or eternal depression.
And I broke it.
So I deserve this forty minute tantrum.
It is my punishment
and it is not enough.
I am sorry.
I wish ALL the seats in the car
were middle seats.
I know you will die now,
forced to sit near the window.
Not from a crash,
nor even the blinding sun in your eyes-
but from grief.
Sharp, acute, extremely real misery
that cannot be assuaged by the knowledge
that in 1.3 miles we will arrive at Home Depot
and you can trade places
with your brother
for the ride home.
I am a terrible mother.
I know this.
One cannot expect someone
as wonderful as you to love them,
when they are as flawed
(and evil) as I am.
I am sorry our children
lost your spare motorcycle key.
No, I do not understand what this means,
how could I?
I am not as wise and organized as you,
which is why
this is obviously my fault.
Please, explain to me again
how old your bike is,
so I can grasp that keys like these
are no where to be found.
It is fine, spend the evening
in the garage, muttering
and trying to fix your broken key.
(NOT YOUR FAULT, I know this!)
There is literally nothing in our home
-Nay! The world!-
more important than the lost key.