Ugh.
UGH.
AAAGGGHHHHHHH!
It's been a rough day. One of those 'get in the car, go get a massage and check into a hotel room' kind of days. One of those days where every "do this" is followed by a resounding "NO!" and we've communicated primarily through demands, threats, yelling and slammed doors.
Ugh.
Why? Why don't they listen? Why don't they just do as I tell them? Why does there have to be tantrums and fits and screaming? Why? WHY?
Because they are people, not robots. They are not programmable. They are humans with brains and thoughts and ideas and feelings. I am raising children, not fixing problems.
Or, as today has been going, I am creating problems out of perfectly good children. Children, who, don't eat my food, don't clean up after themselves, don't say please or thank you and who aren't very nice to each other.
I set rules and boundaries. I make them well aware of the consequences and I follow through with them. I try really really hard not to lose my cool and I understand that talking and a hug goes much farther than a swat on the butt or a simple time-out.
So why do they hate me? Why? WHY? Why am I the "bad mommy?" If this were an office job, I'd be re-evaluating my career path and goals, and possibly cashing out my 401k and taking an extended vacation.
Maybe I just need to let go. Our little town is celebrating this weekend, and there are fireworks and an outdoor movie tonight. I totally want to go, but the kids have been - well, UGH - today. So I had decided that we weren't going and that it would be a lesson that only good behavior gets rewarded. And then I was thinking. When my son is 28, will he remember the time he got in trouble and couldn't go to the fireworks? That thought terrified me. I want him to remember going to the fireworks with me and his sisters and having an awesome time. That is what I want him to remember.
Okay, fine. We'll go to the fireworks, even though I've been threatening all day that we're not going and I've already given my son an ultimatum. Clean up the living room and your bedroom or we're not going. I told him that he has to earn it. Well, the living room is still messy. So I'll clean that up too. I'm too tired to fight and he clearly is much more stubborn than me. And I should probably give the bike back, too. I'd taken it away because he threw it on the ground in a rage. I told him that if he can't treat his things nice, he doesn't deserve them.
Ouch. Yeah, maybe that one was a little harsh. I mean, I get it. That's an important lesson. So is the lesson of good behavior = rewards. But he's 5. FIVE. Does he really need to understand these things right now? And is he really going to learn them from me taking things away when he doesn't do it when I haven't addressed it with him before? Yeah, I'm getting confused now. I can't imagine what's going on in his intelligent mind.
Clearly, the problem is me. I knew that, though. I want my kids to be responsible and well behaved people. When I tell my daughter not to sit on the table, I imagine her climbing on up at a restaurant. Funny though, she's never done that at a restaurant. She's only done it at home. So where does this worry come from? Actually, when my children are in public, they are perfect angels. The are quiet. They listen. They say things like "Good Morning" and "Thank You" and "Have a Nice Day." So what am I all upset about?
Am I upset about the fact that they are screaming at each other in the bedroom right now? I think it might be time for Mommy Earmuffs.
Ugh, this parenting thing is hard. Way hard. There's just so much pressure... so much, in fact, that I'm not enjoying it. I'm not okay with that.
I want my kids to have a great childhood. I want them to have great memories. But instead of being a part of and helping create those great memories, I'm more worried about their behavior being correct.
Right now, my daughter is playing with her food, transferring the itty bitty pieces of rice from one bowl to the other and then onto her sister's tray (and the floor.) This bothers me because it's making a mess. She's practicing her motor skills. What kind of message does it send if I were to yell at her? Don't be messy? Don't play? Don't be your own person and do your own thing and touch and feel and learn and experience?
Great. Now she gave the baby a bowl of full rice. Looks like I'll be vacuuming... again...
Being a parent is truly a sacrifice. You sacrifice your body, your sleep, your sanity. You sacrifice everything that you are because you love these little people so much that when they scream at you all day you find yourself asking what you're doing wrong. I really am just making it harder on myself.
I am raising children, not fixing problems, and I refuse to create problems out of perfectly good children.
Maybe, just maybe, I need to step back and stop micromanaging - or programming - these beautiful little creatures. Maybe, beyond all reason, they will grow into kind, compassionate and caring people if I let them. Maybe, they already are these people, and I'm too close to the picture to see it.
{As I am typing this, my son is screaming and jumping on the couch like he's at a rave. I see the irony in this.}
Children are loud. They are messy. They break things. They are exhausting. I knew all this going into it. I have no right to be surprised or upset with the results.
I am here to listen to their loudness, to clean up their messes, and to carry them to bed when they fall asleep on the floor. I am here to support them, to answer questions, and to teach them what it means to be good. I am here to love them, with every detail that requires.
When you think about it that way, the job description gets a heck of a lot easier to deal with. Love them. This is the only requirement. Everything else is a detail. Everything else happens because you love them.
Sigh. Okay. Maybe I can do this.
