I adore my daughter. She is the light of my life. I couldn’t be happier to be her mom.
She’s driving me out of my mind with one thing since we moved into this townhouse at the end of July. She won’t stop trying to have a conversation from upstairs when I’m downstairs. Ignoring her does nothing; she just keeps yelling. We are not yellers. I do not yell. I keep repeating to her that if she wants to talk to me, then come downstairs where I am and then attempt to carry on a discussion. But no.
I may be in the kitchen with water running. I may be standing next to the washing machine. The furnace may have just kicked in, and so while I hear her urgently vocalizing something, the content of the message is lost. Besides, it is fucking annoying. And it is usually something of tremendous import: “Mom, how do you spell –“ “Mom, do you want to see the string on this toy?” “Mom, where is my sock?”
M, I say, if you have something to say to me, come downstairs. I can not hear you when I am not in the room. Stop yelling at me.
In one ear and out the other.
And with the snow we have had for two days straight, she is bouncing off the walls a little bit, although she’s been out in it playing. I wanted to go walking in the greenbelt in all this snow, but the wind has been constant. I hate wind.
Ack! There she goes again! “Mom?”
3 years ago