It was a typical Sunday around our house. Will and I were doing that frantic parental juggling act of trying to A) get shit done around the house, B) feed the children and ourselves, C) prepare for the upcoming week, D) make sure the kiddos –Stella, anyway – had some kind of entertainment other than television, E) actually spend a bit of time together, and F) battle the occasional Stella outburst. She had been a bit tantrumy (made up word, ok?) all weekend, and our nerves were wearing a bit thin. I was also intermittently sobbing at the thought of leaving Felix and going back to work the next day. We were kind of a mess.
Will was trying to finish cooking breakfast and I was trying to send an email or something relatively important. Stella was following us around in turns, demanding that we read Dinosaur vs. Potty to her for the 63rd time that morning. Both of us declined, promising we would read again after breakfast. Stella started bellowing and whining. Will started bellowing at her to stop whining1. That, of course, incited a fresh episode of whining in a different key.
Then she hollered/whined, “Oh my god! Oh my god!” while leaning dramatically against the kitchen door jamb. I about fell out laughing. I don’t know where in the world she would have picked that up. I don’t think that’s a phrase we use a whole lot around her. If anything, she might have gotten “Shit!” or “Damn it!” out of me. Regardless, it is time to pay very close attention to the words that pass our lips at this point.
1 I think every mom in the world knows this routine. I don’t know which party is more irritating at that moment in time: the loud whining toddler or the loud whining grown up who OUGHT TO KNOW BETTER.