This morning, I was done by 9 a.m.
7:20 a.m. I was praying and thanking God for just how blessed I am to have my girls, a hubby I love, family that is healthy and such a positive presence in our lives, a home, food, and on and on…I felt wonderfully overwhelmed by all that I have been given.
7:30 a.m.: I was informed that there were newly washed sheets that had just been soaked through (and no, I couldn’t “just let them dry” as sweetly suggested by my three-year-old.) I stripped the bed, got the laundry going, finished packing Emma’s lunch, made sure she was ready, fed the girls breakfast, scarfed down my now cold oatmeal too quickly in an attempt to get us out the door on time, and got to the bus stop near our house. Both girls were dressed. I was in my pajamas. It was just one of those mornings.
8:07 a.m.: After getting to the bus stop with a few minutes to spare, we then held up the bus (and also the person sitting behind the bus who was probably now late to work) when my big one suddenly refused to take a seat on it. The afternoon before on the bus, she had gotten out a piece of candy her teacher had given her. A friend told her that they weren’t allowed to eat on the bus, and my tender hearted one thought that she was in terrible trouble. She sobbed it out yesterday, we talked it out, the jury was out, and then I thought she realized that she had been absolved of the crime. However, this morning, she decided that getting on the bus was just too tough. I got her to climb up the bus stairs, the bus driver said that her behavior on the bus is excellent, and her friend that she was worried would bring up the candy crime wasn’t even on the bus. Still, she cried ambulance siren loud, capturing the attention of the kids on the bus and the crowd of parents standing nearby. At that moment, I committed a rookie parenting mistake in my desperation to get her to move forward and let the bus driver get to school on time. I said that if she didn’t sit down in a bus seat, she couldn’t go to school. Read here, a consequence I really didn’t want to enforce. I value school and want her to feel that it is a privilege to go, yet not an optional activity. So, we went in the house and I did some quick brainstorming. I explained to her that the bus was going right to her school from our neighborhood, and Mommy would need to spend money on extra gas to drive her there. Emma works hard for her money in her piggy bank, making a quarter for putting away the whole family’s laundry or other small wages for jobs that seem big to her. I told her it would take two quarters to get to school (sadly, a bargain rate at today’s gas prices, I know, but an economics lesson is for another day.) She hurried to get the money, promising that she would willingly take the bus home. I hurried to change from pajamas to an actual outfit. As we got in the minivan, she said, “Thank you so much, Mommy.” The fact is, I was willing to drive her to school the whole year if necessary, but I wanted her to learn the consequences of not listening when I asked her to sit down on the bus. No one was being unkind to her on the bus, she just felt guilty for getting out her candy. I want her to be able to talk out her feelings, but I don’t want her to live in fear of a mistake she might make. This parent thing, in all honesty, involves a whole lot of love and a fair amount of winging it and hoping and praying you’re doing way more good than harm.
8:40 a.m. We walked Emma into school, got back in the car, and then my little one started lamenting that she doesn’t want to go to preschool, doesn’t like preschool, and just wants to stay home with Mommy. Did I mention I don’t have all the answers? I am torn between teaching her not to quit when something seems hard and pulling her from preschool and keeping her home with me another year. On Thursday, I discovered that my sweet, bubbly Lily has not said a single word to an adult or a child in the month she’s been at preschool. She has been completely silent, not talking to her peers, teachers, other parents, anyone. No wonder she isn’t thrilled about going. She loves to vocalize at home. Next week, I plan to spend the whole preschool afternoon with her and hope to figure out what is going on and whether she should spend about five hours a week there or should wait until she’s older to hit the school scene. I have analyzed this greatly, and her complaints four hours before she even needed to be at preschool wore me out just a little more.
9:00 a.m. I say I was done by 9 a.m., but I should really say “undone.” For, there is no being “done” as a mother. The responsibilities, the fact that you are accountable for how you handle things and how you mold your kids, does not allow you to be “done” at any point in the day. Coming “undone,” on the other hand, totally happens. On more occasions than I can count, I have let things get to me and not been at my mothering best. In an attempt to reclaim myself before I took my morning’s exhaustion out on Lily, I jumped in the shower and left her with books to read in my room. I got out of the shower and heard her crying hysterically. I hurried into my bathroom and discovered her with tears streaming down her cheeks, her dress having fallen in the toilet while she was using it. Though I was just finishing my second and final load of laundry for the day, I made sure to tell her it was no big deal, that I didn’t mind at all. I gave hugs, reassured her, and dried her tears. Good thing Calgon had taken me away during my shower!
9:15 a.m.: I realized how quickly L was able to move on after this. And then came my moment of revelation. Each of these exasperating, draining, stress-inducing moments of motherhood is also an opportunity, a teachable moment, a chance to strengthen my children’s character and allow them to grow. It may be inconvenient for me; it may make me feel drained before the day has really begun, but without it, my children wouldn’t learn how to deal well with adversity, may not understand how people make mistakes and there is grace and a way to move through it, how it really is an important life skill to keep the small stuff in perspective. Each of these inconveniences is actually useful, helpful, part of the schooling my children receive at home. They don’t mean life is easier for me, but they do mean that it is more meaningful for them. I may not have all of the answers, but I can provide support, turn moments of crisis for them into learning experiences, and model resiliency and an appreciation for acknowledging our feelings and keeping things in perspective. I can teach them that I love them in all moments, the times they feel proud and the instances where they want to hide from their crimes. The problems they cause now are small, but the way I handle them are huge in who they will turn out to be. So, I have decided today, at 10 a.m., that I am most certainly not done. I am only getting started in helping them discover who they are, how it is okay to feel how they feel and mess up and get up and keep going, how they are perfectly imperfect and though I love them imperfectly, I love them greatly and deeply and through anything.
10:00 a.m. I am once again overwhelmed by all that I have been given, grateful for my children and their ability to laugh and cry, worry and wonder, create mounds of laundry that I need to do but am blessed to have. And I am looking forward to the day ahead.
