The Confessional – In Which I Nearly Lose My S H Double Hockey Sticks

A little explanation may be in order, cuz… SHLL (S H double hockey sticks) is not a word. My hubs and I came up with an alternate way of cursing. You know when people want to use “hell” as an expletive, but not actually be all expletive-y… they may say, “H E doublehockeysticks!”

Well, my hubs and I have taken it to the next level. Now, to be clear… I am not saying I DO curse nor am I saying I do NOT. I am just saying I feel that for me… I really shouldn’t *ahem*. As much as we try to keep it clean, sometimes there is nothing quite like a well-placed expletive. OR sometimes, there is no better way to describe an event or circumstance or happening than to use a word that is not allowed on daytime television.

So, Paul and I came up with the concept of dropping the last letters of a “bad word” and adding “doublehockeysticks” to the end. You can experiment on your own. I don’t want to be the one to have lead to your fauxfanity corruption.

*whistling*

I mean just the phrase “double hockey sticks” can be the new not-bad bad word! It can TOTALLY stand alone. Just think, you cut your finger off whilst chopping carrots or rutabaga (or CAKE!) and exclaim, “DOUBLEHOCKEYSTICKS!”

Aaaanywho… last night was one of those “happenings”.

My daughter Lucy (4) contracted a sudden and rather painful ear ache. At midnight. Just as my body decided to give into sleep. And also my husband has been gone for days (read: single parenting). Also I am not the only one in my family with an alter ego. My alter ego can be a priss, but LUCY’s alter-ego may have been birthed from the loins of….um… H E doublehockeysticks.

She is desperately whiny. Stubborn. Stubborn. Loud. Insistent. Manipulative. Adorable. Relentless. Demanding. Expressive. Stubborn. All this packed into 37 pounds… of Terror. Literally, at this developmental stage, she could be the dictator of a North Korean country *ahem*.

So, when she “fell ill” last night, I was already at my wits end as a single parent of 3 days. I was under-rested and in desperate need of some quiet time (read: SLEEP). Also, in case I wasn’t clear – Lucy has been a whiny, angry, discontent little mess for months. Being 4 sucks – for the public and the people who spawned them. For the little person trapsing around as a North Korean dictator, I think it might be fun in a satanic sort of way. I’m kidding about that last sentence.

What happened last night was this — I had to deal with a child that was in real pain. I had NO CHILDREN”S TYLENOL IN THE HOUSE and my husband was gone. I had no adult to go get some sanity (for us both) and there was no way in H E doublehockeysticks I was gonna take my 37 pound banshee out at 12:30 at night.

And I nealy lost my S H doublehockeysticks.

From 12 to prolly 4:30 (at some point I threw the clock against the wall my vision became wonky and I was unable to discern the numbers on my clock)… Lucy screamed – intermittently, frequently, and loudly… for all her pain. Not unlike the sounds she makes when she wants more chocolate milk or someone else’s toy. What I am trying to say is, the whining, crying, hissy-fit-ing… is killin’ me.

See the conflict?

I found I struggled with having true compassion for my little girl who really was in a great deal of pain.

A word of advice to all the 4 year olds that read my blog:

Never cry wolf. Save the whining and fit-pitching for worthy causes. As you hissy over the small stuff, you are numbing the compassion of your mother. The woman who you need to fetch water for your sick-parched throat… the woman you need to sing to you and stroke your hair… the woman you need to re-warm the cloth that is helping alleviate the pain… She is your Promised Land. 4 year-olds, this should be a good first lesson in not burning bridges.

*sigh*

I have been so exasperated by our struggles over the last monthssss, I find that when there is something that is worthy of her screams… it is hard to kick in my true, deep compassion – empathy. I feel manipulated. I take it personally. I found myself questioning whether she really hurt or if is was just more of the drama. Listening to her screams I knew it was different, but when one is has been broken, it’s hard. Last night was not only a battle of physical exhaustion, but a battle of emotional exhaustion. A battle of selfishness (mine) and of love (for Lucy). The books don’t talk about that part. Yes its hard to not sleep through the night, but there is another realm. It’s another state of being. A relationship with one’s little child is most certainly multi-faceted… which is great in a diamond, but…

The one thing that helped my get through was reminding myself that this was only one night. I can do anything for one night. Or can I. This whole “mom-thing” is hard S H doublehockeysticks.

Just keepin’ it real.

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