I had the kind of day yesterday that did not go to plan. "Let's carve a pumpkin together," I thought! And while the kids were tucked in their beds, I set up a carving station with everything we needed for some morning fun. Only, it was a disaster.
Parker was afraid of the inside of the pumpkin. He kept half sticking his hand in and then he would scream and pull it back out. There was no way I could get him to touch the goop. He was jittery, squirmy, and not having fun. I should have taken some of it out and put it in a zip lock so we could examine it without touching. I should have played with him instead of getting annoyed.
Matilda on the other hand kept on trying to eat the pumpkin. Her little hands were covered in goo and every time I turned to try and help Parker, she would sneak a mouth full. I should have put her in her high chair with a snack.
Between trying to calm Parker and cleaning out Matilda's mouth, none of us were having fun.
And at that point I should have laughed and stopped the mayhem. Instead I trudged forward into a heap of frustration because it turns out that I really wanted to carve a pumpkin. But it did not end well. I couldn't handle all the crazy. I couldn't handle Parker's whimpers as he tried to poke the pumpkin. I couldn't handle Matilda trying to escape from the area. I couldn't handle the disappointment that I felt over the failure of this forced holiday activity.
I hate to admit that I lost my cool. It all ended in an abrupt, "That's it, we are done!" Moments after my outburst, I was able to see that it was all about me and not about them. So we turned up the music and we laughed, we danced, and we forgot all about carving a stupid jack-o-lantern.
