On a good day, I send my kids off to school with homework packed and papers signed. They come home to a snack and play, finishing off with dinner and homework. The kids climb into bed with hugs and kisses, and I think.... I have this motherhood thing down pat.
Summers mean worksheets and library days and lazy afternoons at Seven Peaks with yummy lunches and Dippin Dots and frozen slushy drinks. On a good day.
On most days however, there is way too much normal going on. Fighting over who will sit in the front seat, who picks the TV show, who sat down first, who left the milk out, who lost the remote, who left the balls in the yard, who didn't flush or worse- wipe, and voices that are normally sweet are raging at volumes unnecessary while sitting only a foot away. I become someone I am afraid of, my blood boling and my pulse racing as I plot ways to escape and hide from my children. Dr. Phil and Supernany give advice that runs through my head, but I simply want to punish my kids, lock them up, and run away.
Who would have thought that many motherhood moments are really a strange sort of torture. From Gameboy noises to bodily functions to crying and punching.... Honestly.......... really?
I am trying, really trying, to be a good mom. I have not harmed anyone (yet). I have given time-outs for the alloted minutes and sent kids outside. I really just thought I would be better. Better prepared, better equiped. The cute funny mom, in her skinny jeans and perfect make-up and feeding organic snacks to well washed and well mannered little children who adored me. Well..... for those of you who know me well, this is not the scenario I live at all. It is a sad reality.
My husband reminds me, however that one part of the scenario is real.... these boys adore me. Imperfections at all. Dang good thing. That may well be what keeps them safe. And I have to admit, I adore them back ( at least, on most days)