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Language Log

Wednesday, Mar. 28, 2018 - 2:49 p.m.

J is off on his next short trip. The plan was to wake kids at 8, pile them into car to take him to airport. It went fine until we piled U into the car, when he started crying and unbuckling and fighting to go back in and be changed into his clothes. He was mad because he was in his pjs but Q was dressed. Q doesn’t wear pjs.

He told Q she needed to go get shot and killed. That would make him happy. Q agreed that this afternoon she will go for a walk by herself and try to find someone who will shoot her. I just love this dynamic. Not.

Then after he was dropped off we had like an hour to get ready for her swim class. She came in and was flashing a lantern light on and off near me and I asked her not to because it was horrible, and she just repeated everything I said and wouldn’t leave. Like, do the thing, just somewhere else. It’s when I’m asking such a small thing and they WON’T that I lose my shit.

Anyway, meltdown city for me. I hyperventilated, that was new.

I finished up in time to take them to swim. Dragged myself through lunch out. Hated it and probably seemed like a really unreasonably cranky homeless mother or something.

Home now and we’re moving on to the “fight about screen time” portion of the day. Slowly dying inside, bored and frustrated and full of suppressed rage. The closest I can get to warmth after, say, 11 am is robotic emotionlessness.

J got pizza last night and I ate just enough to keep me from losing any weight yesterday. My morning weigh-in is honestly the favorite part of my day, now I have to wait till tomorrow to experience that. Godammit.


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