Memories of Your "Mean Mom"

You know kids... One day you'll read this and memories of me will come to mind. Sometimes those memories won't be very pleasant and I think we should take a minute to explore that.

As well intentioned as I may be, sometimes I'm slightly ... Let's say, unbalanced.

Sometimes the crying and the arguing; the 12:30 am wake up calls from the puking five year old; the stabbing pain from misstepping while walking through the Lego minefield that's been on the bedroom floor for the last three days; and the tiny little hands that have permanently attached themselves to the side of my leg throws something off inside me which in turn makes me a not-so-nice mama to be around.

As much as I want to take a deep breath and find my center before addressing the unfavorable situations we find ourselves in, I also know that trying to pass on a logical solution to a four year old is going to go over about as well as vacuuming our lawn.

The reality is sometimes your mom has bad days. Bad days that make me your "mean mom." Bad days that cause you to roll your eyes and stomp your feet. Days that make you scream and cry and threaten to run away and never come back.

Sometimes I lose my shit and say things I don't mean. Sometimes those things are more funny than scary, like the time I told Penelope that if she didn't let me brush her hair I would just shave her head. Sometimes those things are more mean than helpful, like the time I told Lydia to stop throwing a fit about her shoes and look for them because if I found them first I was going to leave her home alone.

Others may not see the gravity in the things I've said to you, but Lydia your gentle heart broke at the thought of being left behind. My frustration in trying to get everyone ready so we could leave and still not being ready myself made me lash out unfairly at you. Sure, you really did need to stop walking around in circles crying because it was clearly not helping you. But, I could've started asking where you looked and gave you places to check to help the situation instead of leaving you in a panic from the unfair ultimatum I handed out instead.

There are many times I yell first and ask questions later. Times I don't give you a chance to explain yourself before I say "I don't want to hear it, go to your room." There are days you get in trouble for stuff your brother or sister did and had no control over. Or moments I am disappointed because I expected more from you than what (in hindsight) was reasonable.

I know one day when you read this you'll remember the mom that was angry and belligerent. The mom who told you to shut up and leave her alone. The one who only wanted five minutes of quiet before she lost it. The one who made you feel like an inconvenience instead of the incredible blessing that you've always been.

I wish I could give you a childhood free of these experiences. I wish I could picture a future where you read this and say "what in the world are you talking about mom?" But I'm realistic kids. Your mom is a basketcase. For better or worse.

Someday, you'll have your own unstable moments. Moments where you snap at that mini version of you. The one who isn't really the reason you are frustrated. The lack of sleep and non stop go, go, go energy that radiates from them will grate on your nerves and the exhaustion will get the better of you. You'll hurt that sweet kid's feelings.

At the moment it may seem like the biggest parenting fail of your life. I promise you it's not. I'm not a perfect parent you guys. As your memories may remind you. But my imperfections don't lessen the amount of love I have for you. They just make me human. Just as they do for you.

Fact is guys, there's a lot of things I may not do right. There's probably a ton of things I could do better. But, being a parent is not about appearing like you always have your shit together. It's about providing an example of embracing all parts of who you are as a person. Accepting you are flawed and showing how to push on, admit when you're wrong, and strive for better.

And sure sometimes "angry mom" could be avoided. But sometimes "angry mom" is the result of you kids acting bad as Hell.  Sometimes I can't handle that tantrum over your marshmallow being smashed. Or the fit because I can't make the sun move out of your eyes. I'm sorry that's the best corner of the couch, how about you scootch it over an inch and ta-da no more sun in your face.

Sometimes I can't deal with one more mess. The kid that is covered head to toe in baby powder, or toothpaste, or marker. The make-up that is wiped all over my mirror and carpet and clothes in my closet. The lake you've created on the bathroom floor and fishing toys out of the toilet.

Sometimes I just want you to get along. Stop touching your sister, stop making that humming noise your brother has repeatedly asked you to quit for the last five minutes. Stop taking that toy, or that spot, or that blanket. No one cares that you wanted the red plate. Not the blue, not the yellow, not the green. The red. Babe, they all have the same food in them.

You kids have been the greatest blessing God has ever given me. You have gotten me through so many of my own self doubts and you have made me a better person than I thought I could be. So when you reminisce about the kind of mother I have been all I ask is that you remember, you outnumbered me six to one. Please be thankful you survived. Lord knows I am.

Love you all forever and ever,
Mama