Sunday, December 29, 2013

Confessions of a Groundhog Mom

Is it just me, or do you ever find yourself tearing your hair out, just yearning for your children to leave you alone for a millisecond, for them to stop saying “Mom” every other time their heart beats, for them to make their own sandwiches or get picked up from activities by someone else, nagging at them to clean their room, brush their teeth, finish their homework, just listen and do something the first time you ask, stop picking their nose, stop punching their brother, wipe the toilet seat after they pee all over it, stop pouting, stop whining, sit up straight, and JUST GO TO BED only to be suddenly consumed by a fierce love and fondness for them as you stroke their precious little heads once they’re asleep in bed?(Yes, that was a run-on sentence and it’s okay if it’s intentional.)

That beer or glass of wine has chilled you out and your eager friend “Guilt” is perched comfortably on your shoulder. You ask yourself why you freak the hell out so easily? Why are you such a witch? Where is your patience? They’re innocent little children for God’s sake! You vow to be better tomorrow, to keep your shit together, to smile lovingly and cuddle and coo and be a smushy, safe place for them to fall. Yes, that’s the real you. The mother you really are. Youwill take deep breaths, smile and be light. They’re only this little now, they’ll be out of the house before you know it and you’ll regret being such a grumpy wench.

You feel at peace, a sense of absolute clarity, knowing that things don’t have to feel so urgent or stressful and that tomorrow will be a new day. You’ll make it up to them tomorrow. You gingerly kiss their little noses and tiptoe out. 

Cut to - it’s 7 in the morning, the kids are whining about your choice of toast topping, refusing to wear anything that is NOT currently sitting at the bottom of the hamper, telling you about the project that’s due today that they’ve just remembered and you’ve discovered a peanut butter fingerprint on the boob area of your work shirt. And you’re yelling. Already. And you haven’t even left the house yet.
This is me pretty much every day.

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