Did anyone else end the evening with both hands next to their face with long, tangled, scream? Rather like this?
Oh…was that just me?
What might you ask drove me to this? The fiery descent into hell caused by taking two toddlers to the WIC offices as though the WIC bureaucracy is better able to guide my parenting them nutritionally than their…oh I don’t know… doctor? Or the fact that they’re foster children, they automatically qualify for their free milk, so just give it to them already and don’t torture me. Let alone them. But honestly, mostly me. Being a foster parent sucks. Why make it harder?
But, beyond that WIC, I hate your judge-y checkers at the grocery store. Who make me feel by their judge-y, judge-y eyes that I shouldn’t buy Dr. Pepper while also being on WIC. Even though, the WIC is for FOSTER KIDS AND I HAVE A JOB DAMN IT. I HAVE A JOB. LEAVE ME ALONE, AND SHUT UP YOUR EYES. I NEED Dr. Pepper. I have two toddlers. Honestly, I might need crack.
I hate how you give the kids 3 gallons of milk and a quart. Who the hell buys quarts? I’ll tell you. No one.
I hate how you expect me to give FiestyPants 2% milk and BoyBlue whole milk as though I’m constantly going to have to gallons (or quarts) open in the fridge. I hate how FiestyPants can’t have peanut butter cherrios which are no more sugary than regular cheerios, but she’ll happily eat them. I hate how you make me buy flesh-fed eggs instead of vegetarian-fed eggs, and how I feel guilty buying myself organic milk while giving the kids regular milk. (I don’t LIKE milk. Organic–which tastes much better–is the only way I can drink it.) And it irritates me that my cupboards has like 8 jars of peanut butter, but never enough cheese.
I hate how you’re mandatory reporters for child abuse second guess every scrape as though toddlers don’t always have bruises by the general nature of being new to–EVERYTHING. And damn it, as a foster parent, yet another round of being reported for child abuse makes me want to dump the kids back into the system, so I don’t have to deal with your crap even though I would never, ever do that and also because I believe that foster kids should be carefully watched. After all, what right has the state to take the kids from their parents only to place them in another abusive home?! At least their parents probably love them. (The mother of my children desperately loves them, and I have to love her for it.)
Or perhaps it was how my already bad dogs have become worse now that children throw food at them. The dogs are hopelessly addicted to people food and will begin a round of endless barking until they get what they want or you crate them. At which time, they whine and make you want to scream.
Or perhaps it was how the kids were both exhausted from day care, WIC, and the emotional roller coaster of being passed between their mother and myself, and that consequently, they’re clingier, whinier, and rebellious-er.
Or maybe, it was that writer friends were coming over to write and my apartment was a hole.
Regardless, screaming like that felt kinda good. I might do it again tonight.