Thursday, April 18, 2013

Ripping my hair out?

A colleague of mine says to me the other day, "Just tell me, O'Laughlin, you have days you want to rip your hair out, and wonder why the hell it is you decided to have kids. You have to."  I know he really wanted me to admit that my laid back, non stressed demeanor was all a facade.  That, the amusing little anecdotes which I incessantly force upon my co-workers are actually a rarity, and more often, the little guys annoy the $*%t out of me.  And having always been told it's not proper to be arrogant, I tried as I might to just nod, and say, "Sure, I have those days." Kind of.  But not really "days", so much as transient moments.  I have always been plagued with this mentality, where, unless I am actually in the moment of frustration, I forget it ever existed.

I clearly remember, way back in high school, when one of my Blazer teammates got incredibly pissed at me for saying, "I have never been burnt out or wanted to quit."  She absolutely did not believe that it could be possible for one to put them self through hell on a daily basis: working out 3-6 hours a day, waking up at 4:10am, missing out on social events ever-so-important to a teenager, without wanting to quit at some point.  But, I'm just not that extreme.  I have a bad practice, and that's it, a bad practice.  Tomorrow's a new day.  It will be better.  Perhaps, despite my cynicism, I am the eternal optimist.  I often find myself in similar situations with my girlfriend's. When they might be venting about their significant others annoying habits, I can rarely contribute.  Only if Matt literally just did something that got me a bit fired up, can I even come up with something to say.  I forget those moments of irritation, because I don't care for them.  They don't make me happy, nor my life richer.  I take from them what I need, and move on, so that I am truly happy on a daily basis.  It's not a facade.

So, in response to his question, I agreed.  Yes, I believe, there are moments that I want to rip my hair out. There are moments that I want a break, to relax, to not have someone beside me requiring my constant attention, help, nurturing.  But if these moments are truly intense, I find a way to get a break. Usually, the culprit is "hanger" (hunger + anger, get it!?) I just need to eat, or sleep and voila, the frustration is forgotten.  Another way I avoid getting too upset, is by viewing the situation as comical.  More often than wanting to rip my hair out, I am just laughing at  my little drama kings, or trouble-makers, or tantrum throwers.  I mean, how can you not laugh at 3 boys, 4 and under all crying at the same time.  About nothing.
When I glance over at the tub filled with all three children to find George red-faced and grunting, how can I get mad that he's pooped in the tub and quadrupled my work?  There's no time to be upset.  I have to quickly evacuate 3 children from a tub.  Scoop some poop with a cup out of the tub and put it in the toilet.  Carry all three wet children, one by one, upstairs to the other tub, to clean them off.  Go back down to the feces contaminated tub and rinse it out, then dump some bleach in it to soak.  Then run back up stairs to dry and dress the boys.  The bottom two both crying in a panic.  George because he is cold, and I rinsed him with a spray hose, instead of gently washed him in the tub.  Curtis, holding his penis and crying, "poop coming out" because he traumatized and convinced that it was HIS poop, and he had no control over it.  In fact, now weeks later, he still freaks out a bit on every diaper change and says "poop coming out" while his bottom is exposed.  All of this, after working overnight and getting only a few hours of sleep.  For a fleeting moment, I thought to myself, "and I am going to have four of these soon!?"  I also thought, "When is Matt going to get home? I need to sit down."  But at no point did I think this was too much.  And the only reason I will remember this day, is because I am commemorating it in writing.  And I am smiling as I envision Curtis freaking out, and George pooping.
All in all, it's extremely comical. Life that is.  Life is extremely comical. And fun.  If you let it.

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