I was having one of my "Worst Mother EVER" days. Everything resulted in screaming and crying. For the kids, too.
Let Joseph help "wash" the dishes? Turn to load dishwasher and he sprays about a gallon of water inside one of the kitchen cabinets. ON PURPOSE.
Tried to take Juliana's 9 month photos about 2 weeks late? BIG FAT TEARS.
And so on. You get the idea.
Please understand - I love my children. I am blessed to stay home with my children, but... On such days, when I feel my internal self morphing into the "Crabby B**ch Monster Mommy From Hell" and have to fight the urge to strangle said loved children, we leave the house.
You can't strangle your children in public. It's frowned upon. I hear they even arrest people for that.
SO. I drop everything. I put the children in the double stroller. I go for a walk. I chant, "Zen Mother, Zen Mother, Zen Mother!!!!" while wiggling my fingers in front of my face. The "Zen Mother" Fingers have magical powers. Probably.
On cold days, we usually end up at the library. The beautiful, heavenly library. Where they have toys and books that keep small children happy and occupied. Most importantly, they have an entire room dedicated to town-related history. If it were possible to have an affair with a room, I'd jump that room's bones in a heartbeat. I love it with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. I am pretty sure that room is actually the TARDIS in disguise and we all know that makes it the.greatest.thing.ever. Even better--because the librarians know me, they let me take things out of that room to read in the children's area so I can responsibly monitor my
On this particular cranky day, I finally ran out of World War II newspaper clippings to thumb through. So, I started on the yearbooks.
Whoops. Sometimes babies make it hard to take phone pictures. Shoo bad baby! Mommy is grumpy.
You probably think I'm crazy, but looking through old primary source texts makes me happy. Try to remember I was a high school history teacher for a whole year before the arrival of the
demon spawn little people.
So, yes, primary source documents rank right up there with chocolate for me. Primarily because of little gems like these:
I mean, seriously, who knew my town could be home to both a Chinchilla Farm AND a Snake & Monkey Farm in 1953. Read: sweat-pant-clad, greasy ponytailed Caroline sprawled on the library floor suppressing fits of giggles so the librarians won't take away her precious primary sources. Joseph probably thought I was having a fit of apoplexy. Except that he's two and doesn't even know what apoplexy is.
And then I came across this--the real reason I am going to elope to Bermuda with the library's special room some day:
Advertising for my house. Right below the 1953 first grade class. True, I already have this picture, but STILL!!?!?!!!!!
Need more yearbooks.
This is the last year the Traveler's Inn & Coffee shop was in business. And there it is. Right on the last page. :) :) :)
Historical house research: chicken soup for the Crabby B**tch Monster Mommy Soul.
You should try it sometime. Works wonders.