I am a mad mama. Mad, mad, mad, mad, mad!
For the past two weeks, I have heard nothing but complaints and laments over how terrible my kids think they have it. I've been wracking my brain, trying to figure out if they get this from me. I do not think of myself as a particularly whiney person. I try to be realistic. I know I'm not all rainbows and poseys everyday, but I do NOT complain about my lot in life! I am grateful beyond description for my husband, my home, the life I have been given. Even when it's less than perfect. And, let's face it, it's NEVER perfect. But my kids! Oh, my kids! Eva, especially, lately has taken to saying how whatever day she's had the misfortune of waking up in, is horrible. It's extremely discouraging and it's hard for me not to take it personally.
How does one NOT take that personally? I teach them. I feed them. I wash their clothing. I dress them. I try to keep them busy with fun things to do as best as I'm able, while tending to a ton of other house management chores. When I'm presented with a bunch of grumpy, unhappy, miserable wretches and I'm the one who watches them daily, the simple conclusion is I'M THE PROBLEM!
The day usually starts out well enough, but it quickly disintegrates into whining, complaining and out and out disobedience. By four in the afternoon, I'm so beaten down that when they ask me if they can watch TV, I don't even protest. In fact, I encourage it, because I'm terrified that if they speak to me in anything other than a dulcet tone, I will lock them in their rooms until they turn 18.
As I type this, all four are tucked away in a separate bedroom doing separate activities. The baby and Quinn, hopefully, are napping. Eva and Sully are working on Valentine's Day cards for their respective classes. I've already been interrupted twice since starting to type this and just before the dismissal to quiet time, I was told today was horrible for at least the third time today. I lost it. I went outside to get some fresh air and couldn't get back in. The front door jammed. As far as I can tell, it still is jammed. (Help! I can't get out!)
Thankfully, I could hop the fence to the backyard and get in the back door. When I got back in, Eva greeted me with a card with a heart on it and the words, "I love you, Mom!" Call me a hardened old hag, but I was unmoved. I would much rather see love shown to me in the form of obedience and a cheerful heart than a piece of paper that will be relegated to the trash in a week's time. (That might sound cold, but I get A LOT of drawings given to me. A LOT.) Not that I don't appreciate the thought. I love my kids, but I do not want to give the impression that me being upset with their ungrateful attitudes can be erased in a matter of seconds if they just give me a craft! We need to be reconciled to one another properly.
I'm really at war with myself. And maybe this is the lack of sunshine talking. Maybe it's another hormone shift that's caught me unaware, but I'm questioning my ability to be a good mother at all. Every day feels like a struggle. Some days I'm fitted better for it; I'm confident, at peace, and unflappable. Other days I feel like I'm one outburst away from full blown insanity. It's not a comforting sensation. Somebody hurry up and tell me I'm not alone!
At times like these, when I'm easily overwhelmed and trying not to see the piles of laundry; the dirt ground into the rug by three pairs of running feet and one set of chubby knees; the never ending supply of dishes to be put away, washed and/or dried; the prep work needing to be figured out for homeschooling; I remember that I am to be clinging to Jesus. I know that's the only way up and out or, rather, through another day.
I remember thinking when I was a working woman that being a stay-at-home mom would be so nice. I could work on my own- terms. I didn't have a dress code. It would be awesome! When Eva came, I found staying at home boring and agonizingly repetitive. I was a fool! I had no idea what a gift that was! I miss having time on my hands! I have NO time now. I commit to doing things with friends, only to be thwarted by a sick child, or extreme fatigue, or guilt over spending time with them and not the husband I should be tending to, also. I don't feel reliable in the slightest. I can't even keep up properly with this blog!
Spring is coming. That means warmer air, sunshine, kids in the backyard and not under foot, laundry on the line (Read: Five loads done in a fraction of the time it takes to do the same amount inside!) and soon, thereafter, a much needed reprieve from being a teacher. I can only hope that with the sunshine comes better attitudes for both me and the children.
[As I proof this entry and reflect on its genesis, I am struck by how the children often use superlatives very freely. I think it's indicative of their age, but everything is either awesome or so horrible they want to die. Maybe I should make a meter (fun craft project) and they can use it to guage how well or how awful the day is going. They wouldn't have to speak it out loud. They could just move the arrow on the dial and I would know. They could change it throughout the day. It wouldn't have to stay in one place, naturally. It would give them a safe way to share their feelings without pushing me over the edge. Now that I think about it, I think it's a good idea. I'll make one for Eva and one for Sully. If I only had one meter, they'd fight over it and I'd be right back at the keyboard complaining about it to all of you. ;)]
