Of course it's quite unlikely that a person who is in control of their own life really has those days very often. Sure, everyone occasionally gets caught in rain with no umbrella or has other rare circumstances ruin an otherwise good day. But those who are not in control of their own lives - PARENTS - can always count on something horrible happening. Back to the first question - how many minutes of annoyance does it take to ruin a day - I would say the answer is over 60 on a good day. If I really wanted to know, I could start timing it every work day. I'm speaking of picking the kids up from kindergartens (notice the plural).
This is how it goes: I'm energetic and enthusiastic and laughing at something a colleague said
Then we SLOOOOWLY walk into the car. I don't notice the speed as much as I did when Siiri was that age, but it's slow enough that old people in wheelchairs would pass us by. We stop every few steps so Liisa could wave to the moon and say, "Bye moon"
We drive to the other side of town and get out of the car. "Myself!" she says, and starts to climb out of the car while I stand by the door in the middle of the street during rush hour. I say, "Liisa, let me lift you out. I really don't like standing here." "No! Myself.". So I wait for her to climb out herself, I grab her hand and usher her off the street, closing the car door with my free hand. We go into the second kindergarten and find Siiri. The moment of relief ends within a second. She sees me and yells angrily and somewhat whinily, "I'm not finished playing! I don't want to go now!". Liisa gets her hand free and runs down the corridor, I go get her back, held her around the chest while she wriggles and squeals and I tell Siiri as calmly as possible, "Siiri, we really must get going. Please lets go and get dressed." She pouts for a moment but then puts the toys away and comes with me. She's a really good kid when she's not in the middle of a meltdown.
By that time Liisa has already lost all of her self control. She climbs on the bench, takes someone else's toy and finds a more suitable place for it. "Liisa! Where did you get that?!", I turn to Siiri, who has sat near her outdoor clothes and is playing with a zipper. "Siiri, please start getting dressed. You're certainly big enough to get dressed." She says "help me." I cringe with the feeling of being bullied into doing something that I think is unfair toward me. I remind her of her age. After ten minutes of Siiri trying to convince me that she is unable to get dressed (Not true!), I give up and help her get one leg into her outdoor pants. Liisa uses the distraction and runs out the door and into the corridor. I go after her, "LIISA! Stop!". She doesn't stop and then she starts crying
One and a half to two hours after I cheerfully left work, I finally get home with two kids. They run for the iPad and I have just about the energy to sit somewhere and stare into emptiness feeling utterly hopeless.
But practice makes perfect - when the kids then interrupt me by asking for candy and juice and water, I don't yell at them to leave me alone, like I used to wish I could, I don't even get them water while mumbling, "go get your own damn water, do I look like I am your servant, mumble,mumble...", which I still sometimes feel like doing. Most days I say something like, "Good idea. I want some candy too. Get your blood sugar up, kids, it's good for all of us. Want another candy?"
Our lives are happier even when the kids are ill and I don't have to pick up the kids from two kindergartens. Such routine annoyance that lasts so long each work day affects life quality and overall happiness. And let me tell you the scary part: most of the time if you saw me somewhere with the kids, the kids being all cute, waving to the moon, holding hands with mommy, mom holding the car door while the 2,5 year old climbs in, mom discussing traffic dangers with the 4 year old - I bet you'd think kids are so adorable and my little girls are so pleasantly polite and listening to their mommy.
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