I kicked a hole in my bathroom wall this morning.
I didn't really mean to, but I did. Got mad and reacted. Plain and simple, huh?
Not really. Our oldest son is autistic. I have been in denial for a long time and I would be lying if I said I like to admit it. I am trying to help him, but I fail miserably. Every day.
So, this morning, after lunches were half-finished, the oldest is soaking his extremely infected toe, same child gagging while he tried to take his meds, same child having to completely change his clothes, same child not having a clue or a care where his homework is or if it is done, same child spending almost the entire morning telling me about The Legend of Zelda, AND the youngest not getting out of bed 30 minutes after I turned her light on, AND then the middle child asking me to come to school so he can read the poem he was supposed to bring home last night. If I say no, how can he not feel slighted when I am at school constantly for his big brother.
So, when the hairbrush flew out of my hand while I was trying to brush the youngest's hair, I kicked the bathroom wall.
Life on Elk Meadows has drywall repair in the near future...