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Last nerve

7/29/2018

6 Comments

 
I want this to be funny. I want this to be funny so you'll be entertained and I'll feel like I have my shit together.  However, screaming, not once but twice, at my children in one weekend, especially when it's the only time that I really have to enjoy them, has not been my shining hour as a parent.  

"I am so angry right now!" I yelled when my second born, by three minutes,  poured a full glass of  pineapple flavor Simple Truth sparkling water, spiked with fresh lemon juice, down the sink, congratulating himself on having done it.  After yelling at him I explained how it was wasteful and unkind to have thrown away mommy's juice, and that mommy should not have yelled and I was sorry to have done so, but that it was very frustrating because it was the last of the fresh lemon juice, then I left the room to have "a time out."

The spankings that ensued tonight when one after another I was told "No" or blatantly ignored about bedtime routine tasks until I finally announced, "That's it. I've had enough. Everyone get in bed."  The fervor that erupted could have felled an elephant, so vehement and emphatic was it.  The fits and starts. The tantrums and repetitious strings of words that filled the house, made me want to run away to the front porch and wait it out.  Which I did, after I managed to do "Love. Love. Love" - our good night hugs and kisses bedside dance of adoration. This after having waited out the highest of the decibels  from the dining room table, shaking my head and counting down the requisite 15 minutes of something - I still don't know the scientific research behind the 15 minute wait-it-out.  Then going back in their room to indulge them in a lap-time "Lullaby" before sneaking out, thinking it was in the bag, only to be met with "I pooped" over the monitor.

I should be glad that they are almost potty-trained, so much so that the nightly excuse for not going to bed, now, when it's time to go to bed, is either "I pooped. I need to go pee in the potty" or "I peed. I need a clean night diaper."  And this, they must know instinctively, is the one thing that you cannot ignore, even though you know that once they are un-diapered and sitting on the potty, it will immediately turn into a jabber fest of questions and observations and remembrances from the day, like so much confetti left on the floor after a surprise party gone awry. 

This is the thing that breaks the camels back. This is the thing that gets on my last nerve. And so I come undone. This time from behind an icy, cold, detached mask of anger, hurt-feelings, exhaustion and fear [that my children are becoming ass-holes because of something that I've done or haven't done;] this mask is well-known, if you've been unlucky enough to see it, so I should not be surprised if out of the mouths of toddlers who've only known this side of me for a year or so, comes, "Mommy! Are you happy?"  and "Mommy! Talk."

I try to shuffle them through the pre-sleep-second-night diaper-change-must-poop-on-the-big-potty as quickly as I can, until, again, the youngest, by three minutes, cries out, "No, Mommy! I have more poop." However, when he sits back down he merely commences to ask me what every single item is on our shower/bath caddy, [nary a poop in sight] holding each one up for inspection, having the audacity to say, "No, that's not shampoo" to something I have just called shampoo, wanting so badly to think his own thoughts, to own his own moment of stolen wakefulness; to be his own little man.

I break.  I snatch him up from his "Elmo-potty," lay him on the changing table, while he screams at me, "I've got to make a big poop!" I put a clean diaper on him. I put his pajamas bottoms on him. I lay him in his bed and I escape to the front porch, where I can just barely hear him, (enough to be safe) and begin deep belly breathing.   Just now, I remembered that what I should have chanted to myself as I belly-breathed was, "I am prepared for whatever turn my birthing may take," as if birthing a child begins when the surges start and doesn't really ever end, as each step along the way you are birthing them, forming them, giving them space to be their own person.  Whoa! Where was this patient, full of grace me, an hour ago?

There is this thing that I've always held to be true and right: never go to bed angry. I remember knock out, drag out, fights with my dad (not physical, except maybe once I did hit him when, during an argument, he tried to comfort me in that clear-headed, quiet, Daddy way, by squeezing my shoulder; I smacked his hand away.) Yet, during those very heated fights which we had from the time I was two years old, we never went to bed angry.  Or at the very least we would hug and say I love you. We'd share how we were feeling about the argument itself, even if not the actual details of the disagreement,  meaning  that even though we often went to bed without resolution,  we always went to bed with peace.  

I'm channeling Daddy memories right now probably because my youngest, by three minutes, brought out the two year old in me, this evening.  So, remembering that we will all sleep better if we have peace, I went back into their bedroom, wearing my very soft and snugly bathroom [AC is a blessed thing]; I brought each of them onto my lap for their own time with mommy sitting on the edge of their transition toddler beds, hugging them and patting their backs in a regular rhythm I've found that soothes them [and me] while rocking and every so often touching our cheeks to one another's, until each one pushed back from me, after a natural amount of time, crawling from lap to bed, pulling up their blankets, tucking themselves around their pillow, making those last wakeful adjustments before drifting off to sleep.  




6 Comments
Natalia
7/30/2018 08:44:28 am

Your story is so lovely, tender, real!
I think of you and your sweet bundles of joy, many times thruought the week. Every day is an adventure, with its own challenges and oh, so many challenges!!!, and the beauty of it is that it never ends. It starts again tomorrow, and it gets better, sweeter, calmer...(or so we hope!)
You are an amazing mommy and an inspiration! Thanks for sharing!

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Jean Anderson
7/30/2018 11:23:46 am

They grow so quickly. Enjoy and cherish each moment. Tomorrow you will wake up and they will be in first grade. You will ask yourself, "where did the time go?" You will blink and they will be marching down the isle of their high school graduation. Hold them a little longer for your dad!!

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Phoebe E.
7/30/2018 12:28:20 pm

All.The.Things...
Thanks so much for this. I'm with you, Mama. All the Mamas are. The messy, messy business of raising humans. Their tenacity. Their unending struggle to learn, and grow, and love you so hard (even against your will) can take you to the precipice of your own sanity some days. The simultaneous love you feel for each of them shaking you to the core. The attraction/repulsion, as you congruently weap for autonomy and can't imagine what you'd do for even one minute if it were granted. What a beautiful, strange, fleeting experience it is to be a mom. What a gift. You're killing it, btw. I just thought you should know ♥️

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Jenn Keilty
7/30/2018 02:02:45 pm

Kimberly,
It brings me great joy to tell you that this passes. It’s with less joy that I say: it’ll be replaced with something else. But we have been there and we grow through it. We women. We moms. We villagers. You’re amazing in your handle of these things. I’d look at you funny if you said (lied) that you never have these moments with your kids. The fact that you share them is where your strength is. Keep sharing. We all need to hear these things so we learn from each other. What works, what doesn’t, what gets you to the other side, and what you need when you can’t get there by yourself. Thanks for this. Hugs to you and the boys. ❤️-Jenn

Ps: one time, after a particularly challenging night where I was not my best version of myself, I broke down and told 3 year old Julia that “I’m sorry. Being a mom is sometimes so hard, but so wonderful at the same time. I’m new at this so please be patient.”
To this day, 5 years later, in challenging times, she very gently tells me, “Being a mom is hard. You’re still new. It’s ok to get frustrated”. And we get through it together. I thought that moment of stopped raw honesty might have been too much for her 3 year old self to handle. It wasn’t. It was the perfect thing at that time and she has treated the admission with utmost respect. Kids are amazing.

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Tricia Snell link
7/30/2018 02:49:53 pm

Such a human, honest, and beautiful piece, Kimberly, thank you. Every mother has been there, I would guess. And maybe, I think, it is ok for kids to get a stern schooling from Mama Bear sometimes. So they get apprised that Mommy has feelings too, and she gets tired and needs sleep, and so they learn that we are all human and messy and that anger/boundaries don’t cancel out love and the special deep constancy of healthy authentic parenting. You are clearly a deeply caring loving Mama....

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Kimberly
7/31/2018 09:31:04 pm

Your comments provide me with the feeling of grace. Monday morning did so too, when delighted by seeing my face peek in at their door, both little men did a morning dance of joy, welcoming the new day.

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    I'm Kimberly. Single mother by choice. Now also wife. Holder of space. Maker of place. Mom. Mama. Mommy. Mitch. These are my thoughts, reflections, ideas and random observations about raising twin sons. 

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