A Mother's Life

I wish I understood what makes me happy. I SHOULD be very happy.

Sometimes I am, but somehow I've lost my ability to handle noise. And the fighting. The fighting. And I shouldn't but I have told my children that now I know why neither of my parents seemed very happy when we were kids, because of the fighting. I know it was more than that but I want them to know how much the fighting gets to me.

I tell them perhaps they'll appreciate me when I'm committed to a mental hospital because I finally couldn't take the fighting and the not listening and the blatant disrespect they have for me.

I wake up every day with the intention to make this. a. good. day. Yet as soon as they wake up, one by one, my intention fades away. The entire day looms ahead of me. Work. Cleaning. Fighting. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. That's it.

I don't go to work. I don't make any money myself. Is this why they have no respect for me?

Is it because I am a woman?

I believe if I could gather up the patience I used to have, the patience that has fallen piece by piece, wrapped up in furballs, and jumbles of clothes in closets, and the mildew which rears it's ugly head in between the pink tiles of the shower, maybe I could be the mother I used to be. The one that read books to her kids, played games of SORRY, spoke kindly to them rather than in orders and frowns and sighs.

I have lost my patience, my competitive spirit, my I-AM-WOMAN-HEAR-ME-ROAR, parts of my mind.

The only ones who get this are mothers. I love Andy. We have had our struggles this year but my marriage is solid. But he doesn't understand. He honestly tries. He "gets" to go to a job he enjoys where he has a paycheck and a yearly raise and the satisfaction of a job well-done.

I don't. I have a messy house, disrespectful kids, dirty litter, and a headache.

Soon, I'll have coaching, my classes, their classes, on top of all the rest.

Only mothers who have given their wombs, their modesty, their saggy boobies, their minds. We are the only ones who can truly feel this way.
I love the turds, each of them. But damn, they exhaust me, body and mind. Mostly mind.

I am fine. I will always be fine. I am stronger than what this sounds like. As soon as I post this, I will try harder. That's the power of a post. It's out there. I know it's out there. I know YOU know it's out there.

Five Kids, Moron

I wish I understood why it is SO much more difficult to be calm, rational and non-yelling when dealing with the kids.

It's not like it takes any extra time, but holy hell, it does take more than a smidgen of extra effort.

When summer blazes into town and the BBall team is all up in my grill ALL the time, every second of every day and somehow, I haven't figured out yet how they coordinate it, they ALL need something different at the same time, in different parts of the house.

How the Crawford, Texas do they do it?

And if they don't need something, they want to torture one another to the point of screaming or even worse, the dreaded RoRo dying animal screech.

But I am, AM I tell you, getting better about my reaction.

When I can't take any more of them, I am taking time for me. Yesterday I was close to explosion and I made me some lunch; pulled up a DVR'd HHI (that's House Hunters International, ya'll); and lo and behold, I no longer wanted to throttle them.

Maybe that's one of the keys, really. Finding a few minutes A-L-O-N-E. Take time for yourself and it does help.

I know it's my fault, all you two kid people out there going, "Then why did you have five kids, moron?"

And you know why?

Drinking and misplaced condoms.

That's why.

Gander

For someone who has for over 30 years thrived on conflict, I have found in the last few years that when I feel angry or sad or scared, that reading just a few pages in a Buddhist book makes me automatically see things in a better light. I have no idea why, but it does, every time. I instantly become nicer to everybody around me, if even just for the rest of the day.

I smile at somebody random on the street corner.
I let 4 cars go in front of me leaving the pick up line at school.I see the humor in the ketchup/salsa stained shirt Bec has on that looks like he just ate a kitten.

I don't know why, but just reading kind words works for me. Something else works for you. Somebody else was born being nice to everybody and never says a bad word about anybody.

I have yet to meet that person.

She may not exist.

I am not Buddhist, but I try to follow a Buddhist philosophy. I am thankful that I have discovered an outlook on life that makes sense to me and helps me be a better person.

I used to be defensive when people questioned me on religion. Recently though, it has failed to really get my gander up. You do whatever you need to do to live your life as a decent human and I'll do the same.

Wonderful Imperfection

I truly wish I found it easier to look at each new day as an adventure rather than a chore. Who really wants to look back at their life and realize that it all just seemed like work? I don't want to feel like this but I do.

I know I will regret the day when all my kids are grown and gone (which will still be forever, I know). When I look at Jack now with his pride over his three armpit hairs and think to myself that in a just a few years he'll be graduating from high school, I want to hug him and hold his hand and tell him that when he was a baby, we babied him just as we are doing Maeve.

No one but me and my good friend, Marzi, will ever take notice if my floors are unswept. Who gives a you-know-what that my neighbors can see the Lookout Mountain sized laundry pile growing on the couch?

I want to make a better effort to make eye contact with my kids regardless of my exhaustion level, so they will be sure I am actually listening to them. If they grow up feeling that they got shafted because I selfishly wanted five kids, I think my heart my break.

I realize I am harder on myself than anyone else could ever be. I can't be the "perfect" mother. No mother is. Everbody's baby shoots a mustard cannon up the back at some point.

I'm thinking that maybe being a perfect mother means striving to be imperfect.

Tie One On McClendon

I realized this weekend that I am Ole. That's what my Uncle June used to call Old. I was a little kid but I believe he meant that Ole was older than Old. And Ole is what I feel like. I went to a bar with Heather "tie one on" McClendon on Saturday night to drink for disaster relief. She is from Ringgold and a downtown pub pledged to give part of it's proceeds to benefit Ringgold tornado victims. I love to drink for a good cause, you know.

So, Heather was hell-bent to tie one on and she took me down with her. But let me tell you, I now hate bars. I cannot believe I am saying that, but this ole party-girl is just that, Ole. The smoke. The friggin'-A loud music. I have enough loudness in my life with the kids to want to go have my eardrums blow up.

So, I think the next day-Mother's Day-that I am ole, and a tad hungover, that I am okay being ole. I am GLAD to be Ole. I would much rather sit in the yard drinking a Newcastle (which is less than $6 bucks a pop) and be able to watch the offspring and hear my friends rather than wake up with smoky-black boogers the next day.

Patience

Ahhh, Patience, my nemesis, I must embrace thee.

Roll With It

There are many reasons being back in school is good for me:


1. it helps my brain feel less rotten
2. bragging rights (I have to be honest)
3. lifelong learning, truly.


Lifelong Learning, whether this came first from old Mortimer Adler (you CSASers) or the ALA (American Library Association) or someone else, I don't know or care. Because of a school reading, today I was reminded of something I shouldn't have needed reminding about.


My reading dealt with ethics, traditions, morals, values..and judgement. A good friend of mine said once that I was one of the most moral people she knew, knowing I was totally irreligious. That has meant alot to me, yet I have let her down in the worst way and for that I apologize.


How I raise my family, the decisions I make for them will be different from the decisions other parents make for their families. And that's okay. I needed a good reminding that we are not all the same. We all do things a little differently and need different things. That's what makes life interesting, fun and challenging.


I don't have to understand why people do things cause I am certain people wonder why the hell I do many of the things I do. I just need to roll with it and not dwell on it cause it's a waste of time.