Don't Talk With Your Mouthful

I woke up in a good mood today, but then The Kid was mean to me. And as much as I tell Sister, we are not supposed to take it personally. I did. I hate that. Thankfully Dear Manfriend took The Kid to school today so we didn't have to fake it for too long. My skin was crawling. I often wonder if I am really cut out for motherhood. ha! Too late now!

The Kid left the breakfast table, (without clearing his plate if I might add) abruptly. He barely ate. When asked why he said he doesn't like it when people talk with their mouthful.

Now The Kid has complained about this before. Usually at school and says he has to eat the rest of his lunch after school if he gets really grossed out. I do understand this. I do. I have not had a second date or two because of a guy that can't close his mouth, chew, and then tell his story. Apparently I'm a bigger hypocrite than I realize? (I'm not convinced I'm that bad.)

This is all More Irony, since the thing that bugs me the most about it is the lack of self awareness. The amount of stuff we are probably too lenient on with his manners is obviously not appreciated. For all the things that I try to be a good, like Mrs. B, and keep my calmness and gently point out the issue and not yell, he doesn't notice. I have to nag.

I'm ready to return to yelling.

So of course I am spiteful, despite my living decades of "experience" compared to this kid, the joy of motherhood experience and what not. I remind him of a few things he is inept at in the manners and neatness department. Of course Manfriend being from that same calm and quiet zen place like Mrs. B says, "Now, don't get into this for that." Ugh.

He's right of course.

So now, I'm left like a Russian Romance, from reckless actions ... guilt ridden and sad. The center star of my self-made tragedy.

I call the play, "Bad Mama".