Aug. 19th, 2005

falcongrrl: (Default)
I'm trying to zip up this thing that was in the dress-up clothes we brought home from preschool. It's my job this weekend to wash the clothes and bring them back to preschool on Monday, but my kids wanted to play with them first, and I said yes.

So Daniel's trying to dress up in a dalmatian outfit. It's a pain in the ass to zip, because the furry stuff keeps getting caught in the zipper.

I'm exhausted. Preschool was three hours of kids screaming and melting down. I'm feeling frustrated in all sorts of ways.

So, of course, I start swearing when I can't get the zipper to work right. "Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck." The same word, streaming out of my mouth endlessly in one long angry sigh.

Ellie takes a deep breath. Of course, I know what she's going to say. Her enunciation is dubious at best, and we have to really work to understand her, but I know what she's going to say and of course I know she's going to pronounce it flawlessly. Later she'll take pride in showing off her knowledge of this new word to friends and family alike, especially to the uptight sort.

I tense up in preparation as she opens her mouth and speaks.

"Don't worry, Mommy," she says, quite clearly.

And then, she patpatpats my arm for good measure with her little hand.

My muscles ease; my frustration lessens.

Even as I'm doing a lot wrong, I think, I must be doing something right.

I'm grateful. For that, and for her.

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falcongrrl

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