Stubbornacity

I don't think being hormonal and parenting mix.  Regrettably, for all parties involved, you can rarely have one without the other.  I now see the wisdom, far beyond the charitable and philanthropic gesture it is, of adopting. 

I often wrestle with the obvious position of blessing I am in and the disturbing knowledge of just how hard it is to be a stay-at-home mom.  Today started out and has been going just like any other day, but it's only noon and I feel like I've been mentally torn to shreds.  Sully began by whining, Quinn by crying and all of them by needing to be told what to do repeatedly.  My patience is wearing so thin by this point, if the essential savior of each day --quiet time-- were not a mere one hour and 45 minutes away, I would fear for the lives of my young brood. 

              **CAUTION** The below photo is not for the faint of heart!**CAUTION**

This is a pretty accurate depiction of how my brain feels...on kids.

I just finished a reading lesson with Eva, during the course of which Sully made Quinn cry no less than three times, Eva balked at EVERY attempt to learn and I nearly pulled out most of my already thinning hair.  I walked away from it thinking, "Can I do this? Am I kidding myself? Should it be this hard?"  You know, and I know, that I've asked myself these questions so many times in the past 11 weeks that it's become redundant.  (Just call me Lady Redundant Woman.  Props to "Word Girl.")  At what point does the asking of the question become the answer?  I mean, if you've stopped asking the question, normally, that means you've had it answered.  But if, on the other hand, you keep asking it over and over, does that mean that you don't want to know the answer, you honestly don't know the answer, or you know the answer but can't bring yourself to say it out loud? 
Yesterday was CC and Eva was a complete wreck.  The worst she's ever been there.  I actually had to pull her out of class and have a little chat with her, which to me, felt completely ineffective.  The little pisser actually had the nerve to tell me she was paying attention and knew what she was doing.  The kids were practicing the tin whistle and trying to learn "Mary Had a Little Lamb."  She wasn't even looking at the teacher.  She was blowing at all the wrong times and  not sitting in her seat.  In short, she was all over the place.  It was the end of the day, the kids were already a mess from it being the first time back since Thanksgiving break, so maybe I should have been easier on her.  I don't know. 

I said to her, once out of the room, "Wait.  So you're telling me you can actually play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb?' You already know how, huh?  Okay.  Fine.  Play it for me."  Naturally, she refused. 

I think the thing that blows my mind the most about all of this is the level of sass involved at such a young age.  I really don't think I had balls like that at five.  I certainly don't recall bluffing about the amount of knowledge I had.  If I didn't think I could do something, I admitted to it.  And if my parents were staring at me menacingly while calling my bluff, I highly doubt I would hold up under that kind of pressure.  She just stares me down like it's the easiest thing she's done all day, which makes me wonder if I'm not being hard enough on her. 

I think Eva and her shenanigans would be enough to push most parents to the brink, but add Sully and you've got a very effective cocktail for insanity.  He makes Eva's stubborness look like a picnic, full of the sweetest, fluffiest, most delightful pastries imaginable. ('Cause that's what MY ultimate picnic would look like, of course.  Theron's would be full of different pork products.)

He's stone-cold stubborn to the max.  You'll tell him to stop doing something or to do something and he'll look you in the eye and do it again or smartly tell you "no."  Even when he knows the consequences.  Especially when he knows the consequences.  Sigh.

And Quinn, God bless his chubby, baby heart, has taken, lately, to shunning me at every possible turn when his father is in the house.  I've tried not to take it personally, but it's not been easy, given my hormonal condition and the fact that I was his favorite up until a few days ago.  Last night he woke up from a bad dream in a complete panic and I wanted to comfort him, but he screamed, "NO!" so loudly whenever I came near him I was afraid he'd wake up the other kids.  Daddy had to save the day.  I guess I should be glad that he got less sleep than I did.

I keep reassuring myself that this stubborn streak in my children will serve them well in adulthood if we can mold it, by the grace of God, into something useful.  Tenacity is not a bad trait to possess.  But having the wisdom to know when to hold on and when to let go is invaluable.  Right now, I just pray that I can get them through it without killing them or myself in the process.