Some days just don't go as planned. And Mondays seem exceptionally prime for errors. Today, was a long, drawn-out struggle with my exhausted, whiny, irrationally inconsolable three-year-old son.
It started off as any other typical day - get breakfast, get dressed, get out the door. We were even running ahead of schedule. And for the record, running ahead of schedule on a Monday is a GIANT win.
But whining ensued and eventually took over the day. After all the fits, he lost his privilege of watching his newest favorite show: How to Train a Dragon. This caused more crying fits. Then, I insisted he take a nap after he ate lunch. More screaming, crying fits. He got in trouble because he wouldn't stay in his room. Even more fits. It just continued to escalate as the day progressed (or regressed).
I was so relieved to hear my husband's keys in the door tonight. He was even making dinner - hotdogs for the kids and brauts for us. (I knew I loved that man.)
Days like these leave me struggling to find the positives. But they exist.
- I'm thankful that these days are so few. It's rare that I have days like this that involve a long drawn-out battle like this with my kids.
- I'm grateful that I have a partner who I can "tag" into this wrestling match of a day. His fresh perspective yields a patience that I lost somewhere along the way. Even after a long day at work, he's happy to jump in and help.
- I'm relieved to know that my son is happily snoring away in his room.
- My family is incredibly blessed - my biggest complaint today was that my son had a poor attitude. Just one quick perusal of the daily news is enough to know there are a lot of people out there with much more important concerns. My temporary bad day is so small in scale.
So, as irritating as a Monday can be, I'm glad that tomorrow is TUESDAY. I'm nearly certain it'll be a much better day.
Here's something they never tell you in parenting manual (oh, there IS no such manual by the way): how you'll do just about anything for a few quiet moments of peace and calm. Or that it's uncanny how much your kids grow up to behave much like you.
I never imagined I'd be sneaking off to the bathroom to take a few moments to read a magazine or a couple of pages from a book - just to have some quiet. What's even more surprising is how frustrated my kids become the instant the door shuts.
Thinking back on my childhood, it's only fair. My own mother used to sit in the bathroom with the door closed so she could read, have devotionals and quiet time - away from me, the always-chatty, ever-present daughter at her hip. The closed door irritated me and only exacerbated my need to chat. Instead of respecting that boundary, it became my quest to scale it by whatever means possible. As soon as I was able to read/write, I'd slip her annoying notes (I meant them as love notes, but I don't think that's how they were received) under the door. I'd knock quietly to make some much-needed request for a cookie or a snack. I was relentless.
It's ironic how life cycles through nearly twenty-five years later. My own children can barely stand to have the door shut. And while they're not yet reading/writing, I'm certain that's only a matter of time before they start slipping me notes (or texting me).
I now have a deep, intimate understanding why Mom took a few minutes alone - to sit silently and enjoy a few moments of calm in the middle of the day. And why shouldn't she have? She devoted every other minute of her day to her family's well being. Stealing just a moments away was what she needed. And it's exactly what I need, too.
I've recently reconnected with an old friend from junior high. (That's right. Way back when, it was called "junior high" not "middle school." Doesn't THAT date me?) We've had lunch a couple of times and she has two boys (9 months, 2 1/2 years old).
When we get together, I can't help but remember how awkward I was as a teenager. I was high strung, uptight, and could barely relax in my own skin. Nearly fifteen years later, we're both married with children. And it's amazing how much more calm I've become.
I remember complaining often to my mother about the drama and trials of junior high and high school. She wisely would tell me that although it seemed like it won't ever end, "this chapter of your life is such a small portion of the rest of your life. And one day, you'll look back on all this and laugh." Well, wasn't she right? (Who knew she was so smart.)
Before I was a mom, I prayed I would be a calm, relaxed mother (instead of the frantic, paranoid mother I feared I would become). I wanted to be the kind of woman who always seems to maintain her composure even in the midst of chaos. My Type-A, nearly obsessive-compulsive personality made this dream of being a relaxed mother seem a bit out of reach since I was a clean-freak who needed every item in my home to have its own "home."
Once my daughter was born, something inside of me changed instantly. It was a miracle. It was easier to let the little things go. Keeping my house clean and every little item in place just didn't seem as important to me as it had just days before she was born. And little by little, my anxiety and uptightness seemed to erode into a mellow mom.
It's surprising how motherhood has mellowed me. Sure, I still have my manic moments or anxious hours. But overall, there's a significant shift in my demeanor. My paranoia has all but diminished. My patience has increased so much that it even surprises me at times (not to mention my husband). And after the initial fear of leaving the safety net of the nursing staff at the hospital, my baby and I settled into a routine.
Even though motherhood has its highlights and low points (a baby and a toddler covered from head to toe in Vaseline was a bit of both), I've found it an overwhelming source of joy, confidence, humility and MELLOWNESS. Thank God for answering my prayers for mellowness and patience.
This afternoon, my daughter was telling me about her day during lunch. It's difficult to get a real sense of what's happening, since she tells me so very little about school. I've had numerous conversations with her, essentially telling her that I'd really like her to share about her day, since I'm not actually there with her. Generally, I get more than I did last school year. Part of it's maturity, too. My three-year-old son remembers what he had for a snack and who wasn't there. Beyond that, he simply says, "I forgot." And I think for the most part, he's probably right. He probably can't pull that information together out of his mind and make it into a sentence - not yet, anyway.
(That reminds me, one of the other moms was telling me her daughter didn't want to go to school one morning because she didn't know what to do during circle time. I looked at her and said, "Well, you're about five steps ahead of me - what in the world IS circle time?" I spent the next week trying to decipher from Sophia's distracted, cryptic words what happens during circle time with ZERO luck.)
But today, my daughter said that a boy pushed her out of her computer chair. She told him, "Hey, that's not very nice! That's not how we treat people." But he pushed her out anyway. He said something to her but she didn't understand what he said. (The boy is usually nice, but he can be difficult to understand. He's on a waiting list for speech therapy. His mom says that he has a hard time getting people to understand him and has resorted to pushing.)
I asked my daughter if she told the teacher, but she didn't. Apparently the teacher was busy or my daughter didn't feel she needed the help.
"I snuck into the seat later, and he didn't even notice," she said.
I'm so very proud of her. She figured out how to deal with a difficult situation without causing conflict. She's had a few interesting incidents this school year. Her Pre-K class of 12 is comprised of mostly girls - 10 girls, 2 boys. And I was surprised to discover that catty-ness in girls starts YOUNG.
Earlier this year, she figured out how to deal with a very bossy, slightly bullying girl before I even knew there was any kind of situation. In fact, I didn't discover there was anything wrong until about three weeks after my sweet girl had resolved it. When I asked her about the mean girl, she replied matter-of-factly, "I don't have to do everything she says."
I can't help but be impressed with her conflict resolution skills, her coping mechanisms and her overall sense of confidence. She definitely has her daddy's temperament. (At her age, I would've either been lashing out at the mean kids or crying in the fetal position until my mother rescued me.)
I think she's onto something, too. Oftentimes, conflict can be resolved without more conflict. And isn't this what we hope for our children? I desire for my children to become confident adults who can deal with the unfairness and disappointments of life while maintaining their own kind of resolve that includes compassionate and empathy for others.
I could learn a lot from my five-year-old. She possesses such a large capacity of empathy for others. Even when she was a toddler, she would attempt to comfort others. (In fact, she became very good as a "sympathetic cryer" in the nursery.) Sophia doesn't get hung up on minor irritations. She's incredibly forgiving. Next time I'm in a difficult situation, I'll have to think about it from her perspective see if there's an alternative solution I haven't yet considered. I'm so impressed with the young woman she's becoming, and I'm privileged to be her mommy.
A good friend of mine has children whose birthdays are merely a day apart. Last week, her daughter turned 5, and her son turned 12 the very next day. How exciting! But with the influx of presents she had to reconsider the existing lot of toys that were currently NOT receiving much play time (if any). Additionally, they're a military family and have had numerous one-year assignments (this being one, the next being yet another).
After school one afternoon, she handed me a large bag with puzzles (my kids LOVE puzzles), a large bag with G.I. Joes (now my son can play with Barbie-sized G.I. Joes rather than Barbie-sized, well, Barbies. And instead of dressing up Barbie+Co. in sequined gowns, he can change his dude's camo accessories and switch out his aresenal of guns), and a GIANT tub with a nearly 36" replica of the Black Pearl and other replica items from the Pirates of the Caribbean movie.
Picture her like a younger, hipper version of Santa who drives a fly minivan instead of a sleigh. I couldn't thank her enough and wanted to pay her for all the awesome stuff. But she insisted these items were either going to Goodwill or to me.
I spent a large part of the afternoon assembling the ship and other buildings (assembly is NOT my strong point, but the husband was working). The kids could barely contain their excitement. As soon as I completed each piece, they'd immediately start playing. I enjoyed listening to their imaginations and stories unfold as their 4" pirates fought each other and scaled buildings in a single bound.
Nearly everyday, my 5-year-old comes home from preschool, she runs upstairs to change into a princess dress. (My mother in-law is an amazing seamstress who sews fabulous costumes for the kids each Halloween. This past year, Sophia was Sleeping Beauty, but the year before that she was Snow White.) After school, she changes into a dress for the afternoon - complete with cape and high-heeled plastic shoes - and she wants me to join her for afternoon tea with the rest of her princesses. I'm typically in the middle of putting lunch together quickly, so that I can get back to work...and I don't always take the time to have tea. But I should.
I love the movie Toy Story 3. It's such a poignant part of the story when Andy delivered his toys to a girl one-third his age who couldn't wait to play with them. And it even showed that Andy, who had very little time for his toys since he was too "old," had fun playing, too. It was also touching to see that toys can have new life in another, smaller person's hands.
I'm surprised how rejuvenating playing can be. It seems that when work becomes overwhelming, a little play time not only gives me perspective but usually an AH-HA moment I was looking for as well. There's something so critical (for me at least) that involves getting on the floor to play. Maybe it's because I'm at eye-level. Or maybe it's because we're connecting in a different way than I typically do (like barking orders to clean up their rooms for the 80th time that day).
But this week, even though deadlines were looming, I lingered with the pirates and their ship for a bit longer than normal because these moments for pirates and impromptu tea parties are a limited-time opportunity.
