Horsey Is Dead

Our weekend was a ... stressful ... one. All three of our girls were (and are) sick. I'm mean, the whole shabang - green-snot runny noses, leaking eyes, moaning and groaning, wallowing, and coughs that sound like our neighbor's dog's bark. This made for a weekend full of broken sleep, frustration, and feeling inadequate as a parent.

On Saturday we had to run to Costco to make some purchases - we had to resupply before our students ate everything we owned (yes, we bought a pile of more hotdogs). This wasn't the wisest decision, as it required that we strap our sick kids into carseats while we made our way to Sacramento. Long drives + colds = disaster.

Kate had left her favorite teddy bear, a pink horse aptly named 'Horsey', at home. She discovered Horsey's absence only once we reached the freeway. Instant and inconsolable crying resulted. No matter how we tried to reason with her, she wouldn't stop. After 15 minutes of her lamentation I finally lost it. "Horsey is DEAD! Horsey is GONE. There is NO MORE HORSEY!" I said. I didn't shout it. I just said it in my plain, though maniacally-flavored, voice.

Annie, who has a much larger store of patience than I, talked over me, thankfully, and managed to soothe our daughter before I could make an even bigger fool of myself. Kate doesn't have the existential awareness to understand "Horsey is dead," but "Horsey is gone" may have sent her into an epic fit.

I've really got to work on my temper. I took far too much visceral pleasure in announcing Horsey's death. Maybe counseling would help, too.