It was one of those days. You know those days of being a mother.
And you think about all of the things that went wrong that day and all of the wrong things you said and did and handled certain situations and you just want to rewind and start again. Or fast forward and move onto next Tuesday.
And you are angry and disappointed and frustrated and confused.
You are a mother.
And then you take that deep breath of perspective as you sit here remembering that you are suppose to be thankful that you are allowed to have these bad days because you are alive and your kids are alive and you are healthy and you have food and shelter.
And then you say bullshit – I can bitch about my bad day. Even if it’s just to myself.
You are a mother.
And you start back at the beginning of the day and wonder where the bad started.
Was it the fight about the stupid sweater that SHE picked out and BEGGED me to buy and now two months later HATES and won’t wear and you decided to win this stupid fight and MAKE her wear the sweater she insisted on buying in August. You watch her with her arms folded all day.
Was it because you let them eat waffles with Nutella instead of a healthy breakfast.
Was it because you had to rush on Saturday morning to attend an event which turned into a gigantic clusterfu$%k that you had NO business taking a toddler to. You remind yourself why you don’t do things like that on a Saturday with the other one million people in your town. Because you hate it. Your kids hate. Your toddler hates it so much that after three hours of one of us in tears you carry your toddler upside down to the car because that is the only way you can even physically hold her because she is trying to wiggle so hard out of your arms with threats to bolt across the parking lot and if she is upside down her blood curdling screams cannot hurt your ears and you are still trying to steer two other kids safely to your car as you are being hunted down by parking spot hunter gatherers and you yell at all of them that when you get to your car you are blasting the radio for a moment with the windows up in your own damn personal space AND you are going to enjoy your latte that you did not spill on your way out of the museum and you intend on sitting in YOUR prime parking spot for at least 10 minutes because at this point you don’t feel it’s safe that you drive…so move along you parking spot hunter-people. Now. Do not look at me.
Was it because you gave up on even trying to enjoy the museum so you fed them museum food for $20 for three kids meals of crap and the chocolate milk you treated them to spilled all over the toddler and then OMG the world almost ends because of it and they all glare at you because you insisted on carrot sticks instead of chips and then you wonder why the hell you picked the nutrition battle to fight while everything else sucked so badly that truly ice cream for lunch would’ve been the only right answer at 10:30 in the morning.
You are a mother.
Was it because you were late arriving home and way past toddlers nap-time so you think she can muddle through but by two in the afternoon said toddler has been replaced with a werewolf/she-devil type being and in a fit of rage because OMhell stop the crying you put her over your shoulder and carry her to her bed and put her in and tell her to sleep because oh that is a restful way to put someone down to nap.
But she does for one hour. And during that hour you have tea and tell everyone else to read quietly and not talk to you.
But they cannot help themselves.
And they ask you the worst question EVER to ask your mother when your mother is beaten.
“Mom, can we do a craft” A mother-effing craft.
Do I look like Martha Stewart?
And instead of getting out the glitter and pipe cleaners and my effing bolts of fabric while I sing a sweet Carly Simon song and tie on my cute crisp apron…
I say “oh do I have a craft for you and it’s call FOLDING LAUNDRY! Immediately after UNLOADING THE DISHWASHER.”
Why don’t we see Martha doing that on her show?
When will we see June telling the Beaver that he needs to just leave her be for fifteen minutes because she needs a moment.
When will Caillou’s mom kick his whiny butt the curb and tell him to GROW-UP or get off TV.
Because it is totally okay – that even though we love these little beings with everything we are and everything we do – to sometimes let go of perspective and just admit that you are a mother and mother’s have some really shit days.