There must be something in the water. Every time I turn around Henry is screaming about some perceived atrocity and Ruth, true to form, is cold and usually ignores him, rolls her eyes or uses stealth and devium to exact revenge by pinching or namecalling when no one is looking.
Sure he has crappy impulse control.
Yes, children fight.
It's the first time in his entire life I've been tempted to say "Wait until your father hears about this."
Only that would be pointless. He wouldn't know what to do either.
It's nothing serious, just the growing up, lack of sleep, boring week so far type of outbursts that make me want to squeeze my fingers into the palms of my hands until I see blood and I have to grit my teeth not to yell back at him, which is easy, really.
I remember the unfairness of being eight.
All I can do it try to help him keep it as painless as possible.
On an up note, things won't be so DULL around here anymore. Ben's office is finished! Which means furniture moving and picture hanging and probably couch shopping but that isn't important. what's important is that I did it. By myself. Every single square inch of perfect, painted surface is my handiwork and it's a labor of love for my guy who has been so sweet to me even when I'm a whirling shrew.
Especially when I'm a whirling shrew.
Must draw that, it sounds intriguing.
Now I need to go lie down. Paint fume headache with a side of narcolepsy. Such a prize.
