Hypocrite

I am one, no doubt. I smile and say nice things to people when I feel like I would like to tell them to go to hell instead. It's when they cross my path uphill in a park, chasing their cute little doggies, and I am fighting against gravity with my napping toddler in his buggy. And a little bit of shopping, no harm when he is asleep. And a cup of takeaway coffee, because it's so much easier to balance everything with one hand available, isn't it? Someone tells me I'm wrong, he's obviously mistaken.
But they say sorry. Actually, it's more of a mumbled 'ory', but its enough for me to smile (as much as it is physically possible, since I'm still struggling in an upward direction, so in fact it's more of a grim), and say 'it's ok'. When it's definitely not ok, I'm angry and would love to plan my route better rather than carelessly following the sun.
So, I am a hypocrite. When I say I am too tired to read a third goodnight book, and ask to have the lights turned off instead, and gaze at the ceiling with a mini solar system (the latest souvenir from our visit to the London Observatory), chatting about the planets and how it would be to go to the Moon.
In reality, I could have read that book, but I just didn't want to. So, it was a lie. I lied. But at the same time I expect my children to be honest, and tell the truth. At all times.
Oh, mother...