I have not been feeling like a very good mom lately. More specifically, I've been feeling like a very crappy mom. The kids don't listen to me at all, they don't really seem to want to be with me that much, and I have lost all sense of control. I especially feel that spiraling with Amanda. I'm not sure what I did differently or wrong with her than the other two, but she wants to do things her way and could care less about what I want. It is a constant negotiation or battle with her. Yet again, she's three so that could be a lot of it.
I'm kind of at a loss and have been feeling a little down about it. What makes it worse is that it's the last month of school and during the last month of school there are a million activities and shows and end of the year things that for some reason they are unable to spread out throughout the year. So as things are winding down and all the parents are trying to get as much done as possible before the kids are home for weeks on end in the summer, the school is trying to get you to come to everything. Field trips, shows, donuts with Moms, it goes on and on.
Last week Andy brought home a permission slip for a field trip. It's at a place that is actually only about five minutes from our house. He asked if I could come. I'm happy he still wants me to come on his field trips, because some fourth grade boys are not interested in having their mom around anymore, but it's very difficult for me to do school functions when I have Amanda (not to mention that I have to take and pick her up from school) and the school rarely wants siblings to attend anything so I declined. I could see he was really disappointed but there's not much I can do.
Today I was helping Sarah do her Spanish homework, which is really difficult since she probably knows more Spanish than I do. Charlie was supposed to help her over the weekend but we got busy and forgot (which sadly we do a lot when it comes to Spanish homework) and the class is tomorrow so it needed to be done. Let me just say this, it didn't go well. It was late and she was tired and she didn't want to do it and neither did I. We had to do everything through a translator because some of the words I didn't know and some I wasn't sure of the tense. We weren't very happy with each other when we were done.
Then Sarah started talking about her field trip, which is the week after Andy's. She told me that I could come but I couldn't ride the bus and I had to stop her and tell her I wouldn't be able to make it. I think that pushed her over the top because she started telling me how I never do anything for her (remember the birthday party she had three days ago?) and I don't care and I don't like her and so on. I should have just ignored it all but I'm not so good at that so finally I said, "Sarah, you're doing a really great job of making me feel like a horrible mom." Her response? "Well you're doing a really great job of making me feel like a horrible daughter." Touche.
At that point I told her it was time for bed, which it was, and we needed to go upstairs. I let her go into the bedroom and I stopped on the stairs to momentarily check Facebook and someone had posted this poem:
Today I was awakened by the sound of shuffling feet.
It was my early-bird riser in her big sister’s pajamas that drug across the floor.
I wanted to pull the covers over my head and feign sleep.
But instead I got up and made toaster waffles that she said tasted “divine.”
She kissed me with syrupy sweet lips.
Getting up wasn’t my first response. But I did it.
Today I lived.
Today she lost her shoes for the 37th time in two weeks.
It was right before we needed to head out the door.
I wanted to scream, to scold, to throw my hands in the air.
But instead I held her. I held her. My shoeless girl.
Together we found them wet with dew in the backyard and she whispered, “Sorry, I am forgetful, Mama.”
Being calm wasn’t my first response. But I did it.
Today I lived.
Today the birds chirped noisily through the open back door.
Their cheerful chatter seemed to accentuate the deadlines, the laundry, the mess piled up around me.
I wanted to slam the door and silence the temptation; there was so much to do.
But instead I put on my running shoes and my favorite hat.
With each step, I got closer to what mattered and farther from what didn’t.
Letting go wasn’t my first response. But I did it.
Today I lived.
Today I stood in front of the mirror sizing myself up.
It was apparent that stress and lack of sleep had left their mark.
I wanted to dissect each wrinkle, pinch each layer of soft skin
But instead I looked away and said, “Not today. Only love today.”
Loving myself wasn’t my first response. But I did it.
Today I lived.
Today I threw together a simple dinner and scooped it onto the plate.
It looked pathetic and unappealing.
I wanted to question my worthiness based on my cooking skills.
But instead I hollered, “Let’s eat outside on the porch! Everything tastes better outside.”
Offering myself grace wasn’t my first response. But I did it.
Today I lived.
Today I was on a mission to tuck my child into bed as quickly as possible.
It had been a tiring day, and I just wanted to be alone.
She asked if she could listen to my heartbeat.
Reluctantly, I lay down beside her and she drew her head to my chest.
“We have the same heartbeat,” she announced.
“How do you know?” I asked expecting some child-like reasoning, but instead her poignant response brought me to my knees.
“Because you are my mom.”
And there it was. My confirmation.
To choose to stay when I want to retreat.
To choose to forgive when I want to condemn.
To choose to love when I want to attack.
To choose to hope when I want to doubt.
To choose to stand when I want to fall.
Today I lived.
It wasn’t my first response.
But I share the same heartbeat with two precious souls.
And that’s enough to get me through the day.
I will choose to live again tomorrow.
-Rachel Macy Stafford: Hands Free Mama
It was what I needed to calm down a little, take a step back, and realize that tomorrow is another day. I am not perfect and there are many days when I am not great, but we'll keep plugging along and hopefully when they are older they will remember the good days and not the bad. I need to not be so hard on myself, but I'd like to think that the good mothers are because the bad mothers don't know the difference.
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