One thing is fact: I love those kids intensely. But that doesn't erase my impatience. It doesn't stop me from often having unrealistic expectations of them. It hasn't yet stopped me from yelling at them or having the wrong reaction when they make the same mistake for the umpteenth time. And thus ensues mommy guilt.
For the first two weeks of school, Paul had to go out of town for work. School-day mornings are very chaotic. I get up at 6:00 so that I can shower and get somewhat ready before the kids get up. By 6:30 I've got to get Sam out of bed and dressed. Then there are 4 breakfasts to prepare, 3 lunches to pack, and Sam has to be out the door for school by 7:15. Generally, that duty falls on Paul, leaving me with extra time to finish getting myself and Nathanael ready before getting Nathanael to school. But with Paul out of town, it was all on me. To add to the chaos of school-day mornings, Nathanael can't stand the way Sam sounds when he eats, so he refuses to eat at the kitchen table (for any meal), dining alone in the dining room instead. He also can't stand the way seams on socks feel or for his shoes to be tied tightly, so getting his socks and shoes on is a battle EVERY SINGLE MORNING. Sam would like to wear his Clemson jersey and athletic shorts to school every day, but I like for him to look like he has a home, at least on some days, so we battle over his clothes. Most mornings I have to go find where he has discarded his shirt, and force it back on him.
During those first couple weeks of school, we were still adjusting to the new routine. And it seemed that every night at least one of the children would wake me up during the night. And I was getting really tired. Finally, on Wednesday of the second week of school, I cracked. Clearly, I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. I decided to try to help Sam finish up a homework assignment that neither of us really understood. He didn't want to do it the way I was trying to get him to do it, insisting that's not the way his teacher did it. I yelled at him, as I had already been doing most of the morning. He cried. We headed off to school, everyone in a foul mood. I already felt horrible. We said a prayer in the car. I apologized to Sam profusely on the drive to school. He said he forgave me, as he always does, but said he still felt yucky inside. Ugh, the knife twisted a little deeper. Dropped Sam off at school and stopped for gas, feeling like the most wretched mother who ever lived and thinking perhaps we'd have all been better off if I weren't these children's mother. Then, as I was pumping the gas, I looked in the window to see these little faces. Faces of the little people who bring so much joy to this life, who are always ready to forgive, who give my life purpose.
I got Nathanael dropped off at school and headed to a visiting teaching appointment. Instead of bringing her spiritual nourishment and inspiration, I started crying almost right away, as I told her about my morning and how poor of a mother I am.
When the afternoon rolled around, I picked up Nathanael from school, we headed for Sam's school, Claire fell asleep in carline, and as soon as Sam got into the van, before the door had even shut behind him (because actually he didn't even make it all the way into the van with his backpack, causing the van door to halt and make its beeping alarm sound), he broke down into tears. I, naturally, assumed it was all due to the awful morning we had. I immediately pulled into the first parking lot across from the school, held him as he sobbed, and got him to tell me what was wrong. He confided that a boy from another class had stolen Pokemon cards from him and his friend at recess the day before. He hadn't known it had happened until at recess that day the boy's brother was bragging about these new Pokemon cards his brother had "gotten". That's when Sam and his friend realized they were their cards. Having not experienced anything like this before, I was unsure what to do. After a few minutes, Sam and I decided we would go report it to the office. Poor Claire hadn't been sleeping long, but I pulled her out and into the school I went with my three kids. The assistant principal took us to her office and assured Sam that she would work on getting his cards back and that he should come to her any time something like this happens in the future.
Sam and I felt a little better leaving the office, but to completely renew our spirits, I decided a stop at Costco for some frozen yogurt was in order.
The evening went fine and soon enough it was time for scouts at church. I wrangled all three kids to Sam's pack meeting, or whatever it's called when it's a bigger meeting than usual. Sam was participating in a skit and there were refreshments that included root beer floats. Claire, who had gone the entire day with not more than 30 minutes of a nap, was pretty much over the day, as was I. She was very noisy, and I had to carry her out. Then she pooped her pants and I had a couple wipes in the van but no diapers. Just as I was contemplating cleaning her up and chancing going without a diaper, a father of many children pulled up in the parking spot beside me. I thought, surely, if anyone around here has a spare diaper, it will be him. He searched his whole van and it wasn't looking very promising until he checked the last place, the glove box, and to my relief, pulled out a two-sizes-too-small diaper. I squeezed Claire in and we went back into the meeting just in time for root beer floats that my kids certainly didn't need. Nathanael drank his root beer but didn't finish the ice cream, saying he'd like to take it home, then ran off to play. I threw it out. It was time to get home. He wanted his ice cream back. I told him I'd thrown it away. He lost it. He cried for his ice cream the whole way home. Claire cried along just because it seemed like the thing to do. I don't know what happened after we got home. But we lived to tell about it.
Some days are just like that. In the weeks since, I've tried to be more patient. I saw an article someone had posted online a couple days later. I didn't even need to read the article, but the title was something along the lines of "it's their day too". It really struck me. I've tried to remember that when I'm in a really rotten mood, or they are really annoying me, or I just don't like the way they are behaving, I don't have to ruin their day too. I can try to be more loving and patient and let them be kids. They need me to be their refuge from the storm of life. They need me to be their soft place to land. Where can they turn when they have a rotten day if I'm the one who gave them the rotten? I'm not good at patience. I'm not good at rolling with the punches. But every day I can try again. And I can hope that one day I'll get it right.
