Sanity and Lack Thereof
This has been an interesting day that ended well, but certainly not my best example of exemplary parenting.
This morning I very nearly lost my cool and completely exploded in a way that I’m sure would make the news. [SUBURBAN MOTHER DONATES HER CHILDREN TO THE CIRCUS AND RUNS AWAY FROM HOME] Totally kidding. Sort of.
This was all because I was trying to get my children to write letters.
I love to write. I have since late elementary school, which I assume would be my earliest memory of actually writing something I felt.
Before that, one can only assume that I was just as hard headed and simultaneously distracted as my now 8 and 6 year olds. Oh I hope they develop some love for something! They are such beautifully creative, capable, intelligent creatures!
The middle child has to be constantly encouraged. I must state each letter and watch him write every single solitary one and sometimes even then he glazes over and starts staring out the window or playing with his pencil or worse, chewing on it. I would have found the strength to have patience with him even though he was brutally avoiding a task that I actually find enjoyable, even soothing, had my 4 year old not decided she needed immediate attention.
Lord, have mercy. She was on a crazy streak today. It's the kind of streak that makes me google. You know, google allergy medicine I gave her and personality disorders. That’s awful, I know, this is desperation for me, marked out in little google searches that remind me this is just hard, not abnormal.
We’re at the kitchen table and there’s one blessed thing left to be done before we can finish our school work and that is write letters to our new pen pals. Truly, everyone including me was actually excited about this. However, this is the moment she decides she’s had enough of her workbook, her worksheets, whole crayons and not the broken up kind, niceties in general and even sanity. She now also has no tolerance for sanity in others. She begins to break down the calm I have left.
She begins to climb things. She started with me. She climbed into my lap (Ooooohhhthat’s sweet, right??) and proceeded a vigorous attempt in pulling my face off with her bare hands which she found incredibly entertaining.
“You’re 4! You should know better! You cannot sit in my lap if you cannot be nice!”
I put her down.
This made her incredibly angry.
I try to ignore her tantrum; it will only feed a monster.
She gets angrier. A supernatural kind of angry.
I then decide maybe she just wants an activity to do like the boys and I let her play with play-doh while we finish up the excruciating task of writing a simple, 3 sentence letter (really that’s worth postage?!) with atrocious handwriting. For those of you thinking she needs a pen pal and to write a letter of her own, she already did. This was the aftermath.
The next thing I know she has spread play-doh all over the kitchen and herself and is climbing the top of the couch, draped over it like a sloth, a loud and active kind of sloth, yelling at the oldest brother for his attention, heckling him actually, as he sits there patiently waiting on the 6 year old to FINISH HIS FREAKING LETTER! Poor guy. He was actually trying so hard to be good. It stinks to be the oldest sometimes I’m sure.
Then she threw a shoe.
Because I live in a miniature version of Jerry Springer shows.
This landed like a rock right in the middle of the kitchen.
She sank below the top of the couch, giggling to herself. She found this whole display absolutely hilarious. She found my anger even more hilarious.
“I’ll be nice if you put on Daniel Tiger for me!”
Really?! Now you’re threatening me? OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH.
Why am I engaged in this tiny person’s little saga?? How can a tiny person, who is often very cute, rile me up so?
I guess that’s the point. She is cute. She’s the youngest, she’s the girl. I’ve treated her differently. WE all have.
This afternoon we attempted to go for a walk and had to cancel it. I literally carried a squirming, kicking, biting 4 year old a mere half a block back to the house because she simply would not come when she was called and I felt I needed to stick to my guns, so to speak. You must obey and you will!! Otherwise, I cannot keep you safe, child!
Like I said, the day ended well but the entire morning was a struggle.
I wish there was a point to this post. There’s not. Not really. Not other than some days, even when you’re on the exact right path God wants you to be on, are fraught with emotional strife and concern; confusion even. I feel weak on these days, as if my children, being so dependent on me might grow up to be complete incompetents because I am so lacking and so flawed.
At the end of the day I’m calmly chatting with the same crazy out of control 4 year old that easily goes to sleep as we listen to old hymns in the dark of her bedroom. This always leads me to not only praise Him but true dependence. I’m in a place as a mother where so many things are so uncertain and so many things crowd and cloud my thoughts but I should always end up talking to Him, praising Him and being dependent on Him, needy for strength, patience, guidance and sometimes, sanity.
It is not the single solitary day, I suppose, but the sum of all the parts.
THE END; and thankfully letter writing is only once a week!
