Once again, I'm going to vent (Don't you just love how this blog has turned into Jewel's ranting sessions? Promise it'll get better---eventually).
I am having a terrible, no-good, very bad day. Or however it goes.
For the third (or fourth, I'm starting to lose count) day in a row.
Still feeling yucky, still having this crazy CRAZY busy schedule that doesn't seem to let me get a breath in during the mornings, but in afternoons when my kids are driving me absolutely INSANE by whining, fighting, and clinging constantly, it seems as though the clock is in slow motion and that bed time cannot possibly show up before I completely snap.
I know instinctively that my children's bad attitudes are directly related to the bad attitude of their mother and that if I were to show some more love and attention, they would probably behave better, but it is SO HARD to be patient, loving, and fun when I feel so miserable...just miserable enough to feel like I should probably still keep going on with my usual things--not miserable enough to justify taking a 'real' sick day--as if that even exists for moms.
After all, it's not like I'm that sick. Yes, I have a cough, a sore throat, and I feel vaguely as though everything inside my head (mainly my brain) has turned into mucous that is now trying to find its way out through my nostrils at a consistent pace, but it's not like I have a fever or am throwing up or anything.
Which makes me feel even more like a baby.
I yelled at my angel darlings twice today. Twice. Once in public.
I also yelled once yesterday, and three times (THREE!) the day before that.
For someone who set a goal several months ago NOT to yell at her kids, and who, for the most part, has kept to that goal quite well for the past several months, that ought to show just what a crummy (I dare even say "crappy"--strong language, people) week I've had.
And the fact that I feel as though I'm doing it all alone makes it worse--a husband who is doing some major studying and, hence, is gone for at least 15 hours in the day (usually more), family who is working overtime, and my usual babysitters who have even less time than I do, so although my HUGE desire today was to just go to the temple (partly for the spiritual uplift I knew I would need, partly just to get OUT OF MY HOUSE and AWAY FROM MY CHILDREN), it didn't happen.
And I don't see it getting any better in the near future, which makes me feel even more exhausted and hopeless and guilty for not just stepping it up and dealing with my problems like an adult.
I knew what I was getting into. I knew it would be worth it. And I still know that, underneath it all. But ARGH.
It's just hard to give everything--day in, day out, when you feel miserable. When you feel like there's nothing left to give--and yet more is always demanded.
Perfect example: Tonight, I wanted to end a rather rough day on a bright note. So, I gave the kids a bath, then we got pajamas on, went into the boys' filthy room, and just played. Tag, catch, tickle and pillow fights--we played for about an hour, and it was fun! I was really, honestly, absolutely doing my best to be a fun mom, and although I was still feeling exhausted and just wanted those children asleep, I knew they needed some time with mom uncranky and not yelling at them....and for the most part, it worked. They were smiling, I was doing my best to smile, and we laughed together as we played.
And then it was time for scriptures and prayer.
No problem, I thought--they'd played quite a bit, so I told them to take their teddy bears and fold their arms, and they could be "good examples" to their bears.
We got through scriptures with only the usual amount (read: a pretty ridiculous amount) of distraction, and by prayer time, I had nothing left.
I was shot.
So when Clark ran and hid in the closet and started shutting it on Maggie, I lost it.
"FINE. No prayers, no cups of water!" I screamed as I stomped out of the room, carrying Maggie.
I slammed the door, gave Mags her pacifier and put her in bed (at least she goes to sleep easily), and then went back to the boys' room, feeling guilty.
Of course, both boys were crying--loudly enough for me to know that it wasn't really genuine, but consistently enough for me to feel bad.
"Okay," I said gently as I opened the door, "How about we try to repent? I'll repent of losing my temper, and you can repent of not being reverent during the prayer, and we'll try again."
"Okay!!" Both boys were thrilled, and Jack said the prayer enthusiastically, but still remarkably reverently for a four-year-old--and Clark actually kept his arms folded the entire time. I don't think I have ever seen that happen.
After it was over, I went to get a cup of water for each boy, reminding them that they only got water if they were sitting in their beds.
As I gave them each roughly half an inch of water in their cups, and they began bickering over who got which cup and begging me for the usual tactics to stay up later (all while taking approximately 10 minutes to drink their minuscule amounts of water), I could feel my already stretched-thin patience close to the snapping point.
And then--Jack spilled the remainder of his water (while playing with it instead of drinking it, of course) and began to cry.
"THAT'S IT!!! NO MORE!" I pulled the cups away, the boys began screaming again, and once again, I stomped out of the room angrily, threw the cups into the sink, and decided to leave the completely trashed kitchen the way it is and come blog, instead.
Yes, the boys are still crying.
Yes, I still feel guilty.
But am I going in there?
No. I seriously have nothing left to give at this point.
Honestly, I don't even know why I'm writing this on my usually funny, light-hearted blog.
Maybe to show what life really is like in the trenches?
Maybe because writing it down shows me how ridiculously little these problems are?
Maybe just because it helps to tell someone--anyone--in the moment?
Or maybe, perhaps--someday I know instinctively that I will eventually be able to laugh about this, even though right now, it's not funny in the least.
I know I'm blessed--I know that I'll even miss these days when they're over.
But right now, in this moment, all I can think of is how completely drained I am.
I am having a terrible, no-good, very bad day. Or however it goes.
For the third (or fourth, I'm starting to lose count) day in a row.
Still feeling yucky, still having this crazy CRAZY busy schedule that doesn't seem to let me get a breath in during the mornings, but in afternoons when my kids are driving me absolutely INSANE by whining, fighting, and clinging constantly, it seems as though the clock is in slow motion and that bed time cannot possibly show up before I completely snap.
I know instinctively that my children's bad attitudes are directly related to the bad attitude of their mother and that if I were to show some more love and attention, they would probably behave better, but it is SO HARD to be patient, loving, and fun when I feel so miserable...just miserable enough to feel like I should probably still keep going on with my usual things--not miserable enough to justify taking a 'real' sick day--as if that even exists for moms.
After all, it's not like I'm that sick. Yes, I have a cough, a sore throat, and I feel vaguely as though everything inside my head (mainly my brain) has turned into mucous that is now trying to find its way out through my nostrils at a consistent pace, but it's not like I have a fever or am throwing up or anything.
Which makes me feel even more like a baby.
I yelled at my angel darlings twice today. Twice. Once in public.
I also yelled once yesterday, and three times (THREE!) the day before that.
For someone who set a goal several months ago NOT to yell at her kids, and who, for the most part, has kept to that goal quite well for the past several months, that ought to show just what a crummy (I dare even say "crappy"--strong language, people) week I've had.
And the fact that I feel as though I'm doing it all alone makes it worse--a husband who is doing some major studying and, hence, is gone for at least 15 hours in the day (usually more), family who is working overtime, and my usual babysitters who have even less time than I do, so although my HUGE desire today was to just go to the temple (partly for the spiritual uplift I knew I would need, partly just to get OUT OF MY HOUSE and AWAY FROM MY CHILDREN), it didn't happen.
And I don't see it getting any better in the near future, which makes me feel even more exhausted and hopeless and guilty for not just stepping it up and dealing with my problems like an adult.
I knew what I was getting into. I knew it would be worth it. And I still know that, underneath it all. But ARGH.
It's just hard to give everything--day in, day out, when you feel miserable. When you feel like there's nothing left to give--and yet more is always demanded.
Perfect example: Tonight, I wanted to end a rather rough day on a bright note. So, I gave the kids a bath, then we got pajamas on, went into the boys' filthy room, and just played. Tag, catch, tickle and pillow fights--we played for about an hour, and it was fun! I was really, honestly, absolutely doing my best to be a fun mom, and although I was still feeling exhausted and just wanted those children asleep, I knew they needed some time with mom uncranky and not yelling at them....and for the most part, it worked. They were smiling, I was doing my best to smile, and we laughed together as we played.
And then it was time for scriptures and prayer.
No problem, I thought--they'd played quite a bit, so I told them to take their teddy bears and fold their arms, and they could be "good examples" to their bears.
We got through scriptures with only the usual amount (read: a pretty ridiculous amount) of distraction, and by prayer time, I had nothing left.
I was shot.
So when Clark ran and hid in the closet and started shutting it on Maggie, I lost it.
"FINE. No prayers, no cups of water!" I screamed as I stomped out of the room, carrying Maggie.
I slammed the door, gave Mags her pacifier and put her in bed (at least she goes to sleep easily), and then went back to the boys' room, feeling guilty.
Of course, both boys were crying--loudly enough for me to know that it wasn't really genuine, but consistently enough for me to feel bad.
"Okay," I said gently as I opened the door, "How about we try to repent? I'll repent of losing my temper, and you can repent of not being reverent during the prayer, and we'll try again."
"Okay!!" Both boys were thrilled, and Jack said the prayer enthusiastically, but still remarkably reverently for a four-year-old--and Clark actually kept his arms folded the entire time. I don't think I have ever seen that happen.
After it was over, I went to get a cup of water for each boy, reminding them that they only got water if they were sitting in their beds.
As I gave them each roughly half an inch of water in their cups, and they began bickering over who got which cup and begging me for the usual tactics to stay up later (all while taking approximately 10 minutes to drink their minuscule amounts of water), I could feel my already stretched-thin patience close to the snapping point.
And then--Jack spilled the remainder of his water (while playing with it instead of drinking it, of course) and began to cry.
"THAT'S IT!!! NO MORE!" I pulled the cups away, the boys began screaming again, and once again, I stomped out of the room angrily, threw the cups into the sink, and decided to leave the completely trashed kitchen the way it is and come blog, instead.
Yes, the boys are still crying.
Yes, I still feel guilty.
But am I going in there?
No. I seriously have nothing left to give at this point.
Honestly, I don't even know why I'm writing this on my usually funny, light-hearted blog.
Maybe to show what life really is like in the trenches?
Maybe because writing it down shows me how ridiculously little these problems are?
Maybe just because it helps to tell someone--anyone--in the moment?
Or maybe, perhaps--someday I know instinctively that I will eventually be able to laugh about this, even though right now, it's not funny in the least.
I know I'm blessed--I know that I'll even miss these days when they're over.
But right now, in this moment, all I can think of is how completely drained I am.
Comments
"I know people aren't supposed to curse or lose their tempers. But heaven knows Mom only learned to swear after she began raising her pack of strong-willed children, and not before. Her explosions would have never happened if she had insulated herself in an easier, more selfish life. ... So she discovered some mortal flaws. Wasn't she fighting very hard to overcome each of them?"
Also, keep in mind that our "best" on a day when we are physically strong and healthy is a lot greater than our "best" on a day when we feel sick and miserable. Don't compare the sick day "best" with the healthy day "best." You're doing just fine.
I remember when I was on the mission with a particularly trying companion and talking to the mission president, who told me that "This sister has wanted to serve a short term mission for a long time, but we were waiting to find the right sister to be her companion." I cried back at him, "I think you picked the wrong one."
Sometimes I feel that way about motherhood. I don't know why the Lord decided to have us adopt two children who brought with them plenty of emotional baggage and can be very trying at times, and there are days that I feel like telling the Lord, "You picked the wrong one. I'm not cut out for this."
But there are other days when I'm reminded that I am doing the Lord's work, and he did pick me for these children- and he already knew my flaws when he did it.
You're doing better than you realize, and I would totally tend those children for you if I lived anywhere close so you could take a probably sorely needed nap. :)