I Not Okay

This morning, things were hectic and the girls wanted to be in the precise location of... under my feet.  We have 2500 square feet of house, and they want to be in my little tiny bathroom while I'm getting ready in the morning.  BLAST IT. I love my girls, I do... and these times are fleeting.  I get that.  But I just want 3 seconds to put on my mascara.  And I can't do that while I'm busy trying to read Hickory, Dickory, Dock to The Bean who is currently nursing a book obsession.

Nor can I do it while Hazel picks my makeup off the counter and says:  "What's this?" or "I put on, toooooo!"

Three seconds, God.  That's all I ask for.  Three. Freakin'. Seconds.

After 15 minutes of getting absolutely nothing accomplished and trying not to knock someone over into the garbage can or step on someone accidentally, I'd had enough.  But, see... I'm growing and learning.  I didn't blow a gasket.  Hell... I didn't even raise my voice.  But I did firmly say:  "Okay.  MOVE.", and then ushered them both out of the bathroom... hoping they'd get distracted and go play with Daddy.  Daddy, btw... is the guy lounging on the bed... ENJOYING PARENTHOOD.  

The distraction didn't happen as I expected it to.  Because Millie immediately started wailing (as she is prone to do when she is in the middle of trying to lick the rim of the toilet) and Hazel stuck out her lower lip and tears started to well up like I'd just kicked her puppy.  It doesn't matter that that puppy is stuffed.  IT'S STILL HER PUPPY AND IT HAS FEELINGS.

So... I felt bad about it.  I did.  So, I gave her a kiss and said:  "I sorry."  Because that's how I talk now.  I've given up on correctly using pronouns as a rule until both kids are out of diapers.  And then I ran back to the bathroom to pull Millie's hand out of the toilet and then wash it and... yep, realized once I got to work today that I still hadn't managed to put mascara on.  Awesome.

You know... I once thought that a kiss from Mommy would make everything better.  Plus, I said "I sorry"... so, there you go.  Mommy admitted she was wrong.  UNPRECEDENTED.  And, yes... Hazel started playing as usual.  And then, 45 minutes later when Daddy was gone and I was changing her shoes (because try as I might to be down with the crazy outfits she chooses every day as a form of self-expression - and also cuz she's 2! - I simply cannot let her walk out of the house with black stretch pants and brown dress shoes)(what's next?  a fanny pack?) we had this conversation:

"Let's put on your tennis shoes since it's raining outside, okay?"

"I not okay."

"You're not okay? What's wrong?" 

"I sad."

"What made you sad?"

"I sad cuz of the bathroom."

I sat their dumbfounded with her on my lap and her shoes in my hand.  Do I celebrate the fact that my kid is maturing to where she can express her feelings?  Do I freak out because I'm pretty sure she's more mature than I am and I need to step up my game... YET AGAIN?  Or do I just feel like an incredible jerk for making my two year old sad?

I settled for a combination of the three and told her I was sorry again and gave her a big kiss to erase any remaining sadness.

And all along, all I could think was: DAMN.  She's done gone and got herself a memory now.