Most days I love to be around my children. They are happy. And pleasant. And kind. On those days, temper tantrums don't exist. My voice doesn't rise above a conversational volume. And I don't stress eat. I love those days.
But sometimes, my children challenge me. Heck. They are just plain mean. All of their anger and frustration get taken out on me. And by the end of the day, I've had enough. Yesterday was one of those days.
In the last 24 hours, I have ...
... been slapped.
... been bitten.
... been told, "I don't want to see you. Get Daddy!" (on more than one occasion).
... been unable to get my three-year old out of her locked bedroom (yes, she really locked herself in because she was mad at me).
... said, "I love you," only to be told, "I love Daddy."
... been flat out ignored.
... been peed on.
... been asked, "When I turn five, am I going to look OLD like you?"
Basically, it was an AWESOME day. And like any mature adult, I felt the need to dish back a little to my children. So, when I was given the opportunity to join in on Dizzle's soccer practice last night, I took it. And unlike the other parents, who "let their children win," I played Alpha Dog and put my children in their places. I showed them who's the boss and left it all on the field. (I even accidentally whacked Doodle in the head). I know, real grown up of me.