“Mommy just wants to give you a straight haircut so you can go to your party and not look like a retard!”
My husband gave me the look. My sister-in-law switched off the video camera. My mother-in-law pretended that nothing was wrong, but neither did she come within five feet of me for several more hours. Unscarred by my outburst, my son ran around two minutes later, singing “A Birth-dee, A Birth-dee”.
I, however, have been musing for weeks about why I lost control. You’d think that after teaching junior high for six years I’d find it inappropriate to make disparaging references to anyone’s mental abilities or a possible relationship between intelligence and haircuts. I promised myself that I'd always act lovingly towards my kids. I resolved to always build them up and never put them down. Is cutting the hair of a tense toddler all it takes for me to totally LOSE IT?
The answer is that it was more than just the haircut. I was feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. I’d spent the past three nights nursing the twins in the recliner, where I achieved a tandem latch without my custom nursing pillow out of desperation not to wake our company. Daytime would come and I'd have a big cup of sweet coffee and resolve to make time to get some sleep, and then my kids would nap in shifts all day, one popping up like a Whac-a-mole game and screaming as soon as I thought I had everyone down. One of Devon’s toys was going rogue and singing “Welcome to Our Learning Farm!” even though nobody was going near it. Before the party I had to find matches for the birthday candles, tape for the decorations, and time to shave my legs for the first time in eight days.
I’m at the top of my parenting game sometimes, and it feels wonderful. Craig comes home from work and finds three clean-faced, smiling children giggling and rolling on the floor. Devon greets a stranger on a walk with a spontaneous "Nice to meet you!". We cruise Target with the girls in matching outfits and the ripples of admiration make us feel like celebrities. I tuck all three into bed before nine and then pause in the thrummingly silent house to thank God for giving me these kids and my husband for working so hard so that I can spend twenty-four hours a day with them.
Lately, it's disturbing how little needs to go wrong before I get well and truly behind. Melina wakes up screaming at midnight so I put on "Dancing with the Stars" to keep me awake as I nurse her for three hours as she flails and scratches at my chest with her angry little fingernails. The next morning I round the corner to find Devon at my eye level, perching cross-legged on top of his bookcase cheerfully bending the pages of the nice books we keep up there so he won't, well, bend the pages. I shake a dry, starchy fluff out of a dryer full of clothes and wonder what it is until I realize I've just washed a disposable diaper. Just like that, my Zen Mother composure is gone. I'm thinking back to my teaching days when I never realized how easy it was to supervise a roomful of forty kids until the clock said four and I was DONE and could go home to a clean and quiet house.
It's amazing the difference my frame of mind makes in how I perform the hundred rituals of my day with kids. Here are some examples:
Diaper Change
In the zone: tickle a pudgy baby leg, apply powder and ointment, kiss a foot, tape on a fresh diaper
Starting to slip: realize that Devon's latest aerobic diaper change didn't get the important part of the diaper anywhere near ground zero and there's liquid running down his leg
Sliding: lay Carrie on her back, Carrie rolls over, roll Carrie over, Carrie rolls over, undo a diaper tab, Carrie stands up, roll Carrie over, Carrie rolls over, roll Carrie back over, undo the other tab, Carrie rolls over....
About to LOSE IT: I smell poo but, hey, those diapers are made to last all night...
Toddler Dinner
In the zone: cubed chicken breast with choice of fun dipping sauces, roasted bite-size potatoes, broccoli
Starting to slip: cubes of scrambled egg-and-veggie omelet, most of which ends up on the floor
Sliding: peanut butter sandwich fingers, banana slices, milk sippy
About to LOSE IT: crackers, string cheese and a multivitamin
Bedtime
In the zone: walk around the neighborhood, three baths with toys, sippy and toothbrush for Devon, two stories, one song, prayer, choice of stuffed animals and kiss goodnight
Starting to slip: scrub down with a washcloth, three laps around the house with Devon and the sippy, one story that I have to hold away from them because they're trying to rip the pages, an extra “Help me to OBEY my MOMMY!” in the prayer
Sliding: my knee on Devon's chest as I wrestle him into clean pajamas, one song together, music CD on, dashing out of the room to see what the girls have just pulled off the changing table
About to LOSE IT: sniff dirty pj's in the hamper and decide Devon's better off sleeping in his day clothes
Potty Training
In the zone: reading “The Wheels on the Bus” while I sit on the big potty and Devon sits on the little potty, pants around our ankles in cheerful camaraderie
Starting to Slip: He’s still sitting on the little potty, I’m making a leftover birthday cupcake do a little song and dance on the bathroom counter “If you pee-pee, you can eat me…”
Sliding: He’s running circles around the house, naked from the waist down, yelling “Flush! Flush! Byeee-byeeee!”, I’m holding the cupcake, chasing him, and pleading “Do you want treats? Do you want treats?”
About to LOSE IT: Devon's playing in the gated playroom, diaper back on and already sagging to his knees; I sit on the lid of the toilet polishing off the last of the cupcake
Before I had kids, or back when I had one and he couldn't talk back or run away from me, I remember passing judgment on other parents. I miss that smugness, the certainty that I would never subject my kids to bad parenting. Needless to say, unless you're the mom I saw in Walmart at midnight unscrewing the cap on a Coke so she could pour some into a baby bottle, return the Coke to the shelf, and hand the bottle to a child barely old enough to sit up, I haven't had the time or energy to evaluate your parenting. If you are that mom, I've got to say a big THANK YOU for allowing me to feel superior to someone for just one moment last week. I really needed that.
Devon's future haircuts will be a tense two minutes instead of a tense forty-five minutes: I told Uncle Tim that Devon had enough trucks and what he really wanted for his birthday was a set of electric barber shears. He's not the only one who makes my job easier. My parents are a phone or text away if I need support, and occasionally swoop in to make my dinner and entertain their grandchildren with fifties dance aerobics. My friends share their failures with me so I don't have to worry that my blog posts reveal that I am the only one who says things that I regret in front of my kids. My husband rubs my back when he sees my eyebrow twitch after Devon screams so loud that it's agony every time he's happy about something.
I think we moms are all doing the best job we can in the circumstances we find ourselves. At night we fall into bed after unbelievably long days, wondering how we're going to find the rest and composure to do all of THAT again. The truth is, we don't have to. Today my toddler may point and shout "NAKED ADONIS!" every time he catches sight of himself in a reflective surface (note to self: I have to stop calling him that) but next time he'll be climbing back into the undrained bathtub with his footie pajamas freshly on. Every day is different. Some are easier. Some are hard. All are blessed.
A few weeks ago, someone cut in line in front of me and my gigantic stroller at Chick-Fil-A. Since people usually feel like dirt for doing anything remotely rude to a mom juggling twin babies and a toddler, that doesn't happen very often anymore. I suppressed a flash of annoyance. How dare she make my kids wait! Next thing you know, they'll get overhungry and start fussing and then she'll be annoyed for having to listen to them. Grrr!
Then I noticed she was holding a toddler and herding three kids behind her. When she bent over to dig in her purse for her wallet, the folds of her shirt revealed that she was pregnant again, just starting to show and probably still feeling sick. I felt a warm rush of compassion. This woman was obviously just like me.
Trying not to LOSE IT.
No comments:
Post a Comment