Before I begin this venting/confession session, I feel the need to start with a disclaimer. And that is this: I know–with every inch of my being and every breath of my soul–that my children are my biggest blessing. And I thank God for them and Praise Him for this blessing. And I pray to Him every day to keep them always safe, healthy, happy, strong of faith, successful in this life and in the hereafter. I’m not complaining about this blessing; I’m just saying that it comes with the greatest responsibility, and sometimes that makes me crack. I’m just venting, because its healthy to vent, and because my guess is that other parents out there have these moments, too.
Right now, I hate just about everything about motherhood. I hate the whining that NEVER ENDS!! Please God…I can’t take it anymore….make them stop! I hate the constant demands. And just because I can’t deal with any more requests, I always answer in the negative: Mom, can I…”NO!!! YOU CAN’T!” Mom, do you….”NO!!! I DON’T!!” Mom, is there…”NO!! THERE ISN’T!!” Mom, I’m hungry…”GO FEED YOURSELF!!” Mom, I need a shower… “SO GO WASH YOURSELF!! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?” Mom, I just fell and….”OK!”
If they spill crumbs, I don’t just clean it up silently and save myself the energy, but I make sure to scream, “HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO USE A PLATE????!!!”
If they make a mess in the kitchen because they’re tying to get something themselves, do I simply clean it up calmly, knowing that in the end I’ll end up cleaning it up anyway? Of course not; I have to yell out, “WHAT IN THE WORLD??? WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO DO? NOW WHO’S GONNA CLEAN THIS UP???”
But if they ask me to get something from the kitchen for them, do I just do it to avoid the mess that will inevitably come later. Of course not. Instead I scream, “DON’T YOU KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING YOURSELF? YOU GO GET IT!”
I basically yell and scream about everything. Sometimes I sort of watch myself doing it. It’s as though I pull away from my physical self, and watch this monster dealing with my children. And the floating-me says to the physical-me, “What is your problem? Chill out!” But the physical-me doesn’t want to hear it. She just goes on being the Wicked Witch.
I was going over some math problems with my eleven year old the other day. We’d been doing the same kind of problems for about a week, and everyday I’d made a big deal about keeping his paper neat. “You have to be organized on the paper so you can follow your own train of thought on paper, so you know where you are in the problem, and so you can go back and check your work. It makes it easier to solve and to catch your mistakes.”
Over and over he’d heard this throughout the week. But yesterday, when his paper was full of scribbles and cross outs, and there was no indication of even which problem was being solved where, I completely lost it. I yelled at him, at the top of my lungs, for a good five or ten minutes. In order for you to fully get how insane I was acting, picture how you might react to learning that your kids were doing drugs: I was that bad.
Yes, I suck. So, with all that I’ve just laid out there, I should win ‘Worst Mom in the World.’ So why do I claim to be the runner-up?
Because despite my innumerable shortcomings, despite the fact that I know I need to be more patient with them [God, give me patience], despite the fact that I know I need to give them more positive attention and that we need to play and have fun together, I miss being ‘The Worst’ because I thank God for them and Praise Him for this blessing. And I pray to Him every day to keep them always safe, healthy, happy, strong of faith, successful in this life and in the hereafter.
I’m not ‘The Worst’ because I love them, and they know I love them, and that simple fact saves me from carrying that horrible title.