Bad Mom Confession

The morning started out fine.

A typical Monday morning, no one wanted to get up after two days of sleeping in.

Mommy Dearest

Thing 2, usually the more difficult of the two to get up, got up and going with just a little resistance. I smartly got him motivated to get ready by reminding him that it was his sharing day at school (basically show and tell, but the teacher gives them a theme of what to bring in).

Thing 1, usually the easier to rouse of the two, kept trying to crawl back under the sheets. I had to physically dress him myself with him pulling against me. Once he was dressed, I sent him off to brush his teeth, while Thing 2 and I headed to the basement to find a sphere, a cube, a cylinder, and a cone. (Yes, I really should have taken care of this this weekend, but I forgot. Bad mom move #1.)

When we came upstairs, we put Thing 2's items in his book bag and I quickly got on his coat, hat, and gloves (of course it was freezing this morning!). Again, he is usually the harder of the two to do these tasks, so I was pleased it was going so quickly.

But then all hell broke loose! Thing 1 was crying hysterically in the bathroom "But I didn't brush my teeth yet." (P.S. I had left him in the bathroom with instructions to brush his teeth BEFORE we had headed downstairs on our shapes' scavenger hunt.)

I snapped! "Why didn't you brush your teeth? Fine, I'll brush your teeth for you. I dressed you like a baby. Now I'll brush your teeth like your a baby. Are you a baby or a big boy? You should be doing this stuff for yourself."

Of course then he is crying. (Bad mom move #2.)

We leave the bathroom and I am fervently trying to get his coat and hat and gloves on him. Of course I'm having to put them on for him, because he is crying because I basically called him a baby. :(

Then just as we are heading to the door, we see the school bus...drive by.  Grrr!

So, me, worst mom ever turns to Thing 1 and says "Great! Now you made us miss the bus!" So his sniffling cry turns into FULL BLOWN HYSTERICS!

GOD, I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON!

I go out and start the car. (Which at this point he is sobbing uncontrollably because he thinks I'm leaving him.)

Then I come back in and tear around the house getting the rest of my stuff together for work, so I can drop them at school on my way to work.

With my jacket on, purse on my arm, lunch box in my hand, I look over at my son and think "My god, what have I done?"

I sit down on the couch and ask him to come to me. We hug and I say "I'm so sorry I hurt your feelings. Of course you aren't a baby. And it's not your fault we missed the bus. It's mommy's fault because I should have gotten you up earlier. I am just frustrated and I'm taking it out on you. But I'm not really frustrated with you. Do you understand." He nods his head, but of course he doesn't.

"I love you so much. And I'm so sorry I was being mean. Sometimes mommy gets frustrated and loses her temper and can be mean. I really hate that about myself. Do you forgive me." He nods his head and hugs me tighter.

And I feel like the worst person ever because I KNOW what I do. I know I have a temper. I know I handled the situation badly and even though I've apologized, I can't erase what I've already said. I can't erase that he (and my other son) saw my behavior. I don't want them to learn to act that way. I don't want them to inherit my temper and my ability to fly off the handle.

But, I guess the silver lining (to me at least) is that I am big enough to see my faults and #1 apologize for them and #2 admit them to my sons. I hope that I am teaching them that you have to apologize when you hurt someone and you have to own up to your bad behavior. I just hope that rubs off on them more than my actual bad behavior.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Rule number one is, don't sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it's all small stuff. ~Robert Eliot

Last Wednesday was like any other evening in our household.  Moments after I got home from work, Superman was out the door for a run, leaving me to deal with Thing 1 and Thing 2 running around rambunctiously and wreaking havoc around the house while I was trying to cook dinner.  They were alternating between trying to "help" me and just helping themselves to anything that would drive me crazy (using a pen to write on the couch, drawing on my table with crayons, spilling an entire tube of go-gurt on the rug).  Needless to say, by the time bedtime came, my last thought as I was shutting out their light was "THANK GOD!"  They were going to bed and I'd have some peace and quiet.

Superman brought some laundry up for us to fold, we turned on the tv to watch our shows, and I popped open my laptop to check my email one last time.   But what I found in my inbox was devastating.  A friend of mine, one of my best childhood friends, had sent me a message letting me know that her son had passed away that afternoon.  I must have re-read the email five times, because I kept thinking I was misunderstanding it.  It wasn't until Superman came and sat next to me did I realize I was crying and quietly saying "oh my god" over and over.  A beautiful, healthy, 16 month old child had suddenly and unexplainably aspirated in his sleep during his afternoon nap.  That poor child.  That poor mother.  That poor family.

Around that time, Thing 1 comes plodding down the hallway crying that his brother had hit him.  Usually my rule is that if you aren't bleeding and nothing is broken, you go back to your room.  But instead I grabbed my child and hugged him and held him while I cried.  Cursing myself for getting angry about spilled yogurt.  Cursing myself for thinking "Thank God" as I put them to bed that night.  Because really, all of the clean carpets and neatly folded laundry in the world isn't worth even one less second with my child.  Yet, in the hum-drum of everyday life, we often forget this.  Death of a child, especially a healthy one, is so unimaginable, unfathomable, that we often take our every days with them for granted.  At least I know I'm guilty of it.

Of all of the poignant and heartfelt things my friend has written about her son since his passing, the thing that made me cry the hardest was this line from a poem she wrote for him:

Next came a bath, where you soaked the whole entire floor,
What I would give right now to clean it up once more.

I don't really subscribe to the everything happens for a reason philosophy.  I can't think of any good reason to take this young child from his loving and doting family.  However, I do believe that good things can come out of even the most terrible of situations.  For my friend and her family, I can't imagine what good will come out of this event for them, however, I'm confident something will.  Eventually.

For me, I know that over the past week as I've dealt with some upsetting news at work and some other bad news (because when it rains it pours), I just keep reminding myself that none of those things really matter in the end.  It's all just small stuff.  Stained carpets and couches and broken lamps can be replaced.  ACs can be repaired.  New jobs can be found.  But you can never, ever, ever, replace your child.

As I sit beside Thing 2, laying in his pajamas in mommy and daddy's bed with sick eyes and a fever of 103<, moaning and groaning, and telling me his head hurts; my heart aches because I can't magically make him feel better.  But, I feel so unbelievably lucky and undeservedly blessed that my baby boy is only momentarily ill.  That overall he is a happy and healthy child.  They both are.  That I have been lucky enough to be their mother for almost 4 years.  And I pray with all of my might that I will be lucky and undeservedly blessed to be their mother for 40 more.