I love my kids. I really do.

But Oh. My. Goodness. can they be destructive from time to time. I mean, I know that a pair of toddlers is pretty much a recipe for disaster if they aren’t closely supervised, but from time to time they outdo themselves in truly stunning ways.

I went shopping today without them, and had a fine time. As a matter of fact, I feel pretty guilty because I took a bit longer than I probably should have. I got all blissed out shopping alone and lost track of time, lol. In any case, I came home to what I can only consider my just reward: an entire corner of my bedroom festooned with obnoxiously tangled yarn. The majority of the skeins I’ve been working from had been ripped down off of their shelves and ripped apart.

I can’t tell you how sad that makes me.

These are the times when I struggle with being someone’s mother. It seems so often like I have so little that’s mine. I feel pretty crowded most of the time, to be honest. Part of what I enjoy so much about crochet is that it *is* mine in a funny way that I can’t exactly explain. It’s both something I do for myself and something that provides a weird continuity with my life before I had kids.

They don’t understand that picking that particular thing to destroy was more hurtful than just about anything else they could have chosen. And they were punished appropriately before I even got home. But I’m having a hard time not going completely nuts at them anyway, because they took the one thing I’ve been holding on to for sanity and arranged it so that I can’t enjoy it properly. I can’t afford to replace it all, and really, it doesn’t need to be thrown away, since they didn’t do any actual damage to it. They just made such a mess of it that it will take hours of patient work to untangle it all. Is it really so much to ask that I be able to spend my very limited crochet time actually, you know, crocheting?

*bangs head against wall*

Comments are closed.