Yesterday I reinstated the "F Bomb" into my ever-expanding vernacular. It was a rough afternoon with the girls; I just can't seem to deal when they start crying uncontrollably at the same time. One at a time is fine, but two or three at once is, well, worthy of an "F Bomb".
I haven't used this oh-so-versatile curse word with any regularity since the sixth or seventh grade, and then it was just for effect or to impress other potty-mouthed middle schoolers. Now it seems that my afternoons are worthy of the word. Don't get all in a tizzy, folks, I use it under my breath or when I'm alone with two not-yet-babbling babies. My four year old is safe from my momentary outbursts. But I feel like there's got to be a better way. I mean, I am famous for inner monologues of outbursts - whether it be yelling at people who cut me off or yelling at myself when I ram my van into yet another object. I can have the greatest fights with my sweet hubby, filled with ever-so-clever comebacks to his imaginary responses. Maybe this is why I have TMJ, chronic back pain and acid reflux...you think? There's just got to be a better way.
My mom once told me that on frustrating days she would simply walk out to the backyard, shut the door to the nut house behind her, and scream as loud as she could. I have seriously considered this option, but we live in a townhouse and our yard is not our own. I think people would think I'm nuts. But maybe that's the problem - I'm too worried about what others will think if I go off the deep end. Not that anyone would blame me right now.
So, the long and short of it is that I continue to use whatever means necessary to keep myself sane and keep these three precious ones alive. And if that means dropping bombs under my breath at times, well, then I'm ok with that. I am becoming less concerned about what others think of me, but thankfully still remain concerned with what the girls see and hear from their mommy. Lord, help me!