Yeah. That title would be mine.
Ever since I started back to work (oh, yeah, by the way, I've gone back to work. More about that later), I have had very little patience with Madeleine at nights. I last about an hour and then we're at war. Tonight was no exception. After telling her a million times to go get in bed, and Monica telling her son the same thing, I had about had it. We are currently staying with my sister and sleeping in her basement. For some of reason, Madeleine has developed an odd and intense fear of the basement after dark. That's where we were as we were yelling at our kids to JUST GO AWAY already. We were on a different side from the kids who were "supposed to be" going to bed. I heard them squabbling, something about the light, more blabber blabber but we're not paying attention so we're not looking. I walk in to the room to watch Madeleine slide off a small table as it tumbles to the side under her. Being at my wit's end with her, I react in frustration. I yell at her for being on the table and what was she doing on the table in the first place!?! "If you hadn't been on the table, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."
I pick up the table as I'm holding her and it's a fairly heavy table. She is screaming because she's hurt and probably more scared than anything. I'm nothing but frustrated at this point because I thought she was just dinking around, climbing on the table for fun. After a few minutes of screaming (hers and mine), she calms down and tells me she was on the table because Christian (her cousin who was supposed to be going upstairs to go to bed long ago as well) turned off the light on her and she was scared.
Damn. Ouch. Woops.
I immediately tear up and feel absolutely horrible. Massive Parenting Guilt - 1. Kim - 0.