If I'm Being Honest

December 16, 2013

I can’t speak for all moms, but I bet you most of us have the same favorite part of the day.

It’s their kids’ bedtime. Sweet, sweet bedtime.

Not the act of getting the kids undressed, bathed (some days), dressed again, books read (if they are good), prayers prayed, and hugs and kisses given. No, it’s what comes after. After the threats of what will happen if they get out of bed again and promises that I will check on them later. Once they are actually down. That’s my favorite time of the day.

I love my boys. I would go to hell and back for them. I would murder someone to keep them safe. And I do have many happy moments with them throughout the day. But spending your whole day as a mom to, essentially, two wild animals, wears you out. And quickly.

It’s not just the physical exhaustion of the chores, constant toy clean up, shuttling here and there, errands and daily mandatory wrestling matches. Even on the days that I’m slacking on all of my responsibilities it’s still physically exhausting. But what gets me more, is the mental exhaustion. We are essentially raising little schizophrenic monkeys. My 3 year old can go from making friends with complete strangers and telling me he loves me to a complete flop-on-the-floor meltdown, faster than my brain can process thought. Even my 7 yr old has days where he can tantrum better than any toddler. And even when we are all getting along and they are as close to “obeying”  me as they will get, it’s still exhausting.     

I am a mom, I am always thinking about them. Wondering how my oldest is doing at school. Wondering if his facial tic is getting worse. Wondering if the fact that my 3 yr old doesn’t know his abc’s or colors yet (and doesn’t want to learn them) means I’ve failed him. Wondering if I should get my youngest into preschool and how I will pay for it. Wondering if they will be happy healthy young men. Will I get along with their future spouses? Will they find careers they are passionate about? The list is endless.

This morning on the way to church, my oldest asked me why Christmas is Jesus’ birthday, how do we know? I started a long explanation and was pretty proud of myself that I had tailored it to a 7 yr old’s understanding and was quite impressed that he hadn’t interrupted me and was listening intently. I stopped my diatribe and he waited a beat then said, “…..what is heavier, a car or a boulder?”. Sigh…

We are constantly moving for, thinking about, talking with, talking TO and bargaining with our kids. Our minds, bodies and emotions are as all over the place as those of our kids. Maybe even more, as we are adults now and have to control our anger and can’t, as much as we want to, drop to floor and scream bloody murder when the free cake that is being offered to you (at 11 o’clock in the morning I might add!) is not actually a donut-hole as expected.

It’s exhausting but, I love it. I love being with my boys all day but the simple truth is, by the end of the day I’m done. And what I’m learning over and over again is maybe the boys don’t need me to be constantly thinking of them. Maybe I don’t need to think about every detail of their adult lives just yet. Maybe I don’t reply with a short novel to each inquiry, when one sentence would suffice. Maybe if I think of myself once in awhile I will be able to stop obsessing about their what-ifs. Maybe they just need me to think of them as they are TODAY. Who are they today? What do they need from me today? What will make today successful?

I know I will still be exhausted at the end of the day but maybe I’ll have a tiny bit of mental strength left to do things like write, or read, or stare into space.  Just as an alcoholic or drug addict deals with becoming healthy one day at a time, so will I. I will parent one day at a time. Not that I think motherhood is akin to addiction. Although, then again…

And now, if you’ll excuse me, my boys, who I let get in my bed 5 minutes after I put them to bed in theirs (See? I had no mental strength to fight them back into their beds!) have just come downstairs holding their heads asking for boo-boo bear and boo-boo booty from the freezer because “he jumped on my head!” “No, he jumped on MY head!!”
Luckily, what never seems to lose strength is the volume of my voice when there are two boys that NEED TO LISTEN TO THEIR MOTHER, OR SO HELP ME GOD!!!!!!