This morning was one of those mornings. I had sent Lila to her room for spitting (isn't that lovely?). She obediantly went to her room and proceeded to HOWL. Meanwhile, Elijah needed to be dressed. Unfortunately, this is no easy task at the moment. My sweet and amiable little man has been taken over by the demon I like to call MR. TOOTH. His two top teeth are bursting through his poor little gums, resulting in a loud and cranky Elijah I have nicknamed "Sir Whines-A-Lot." Kevin says this nickname is perhaps a wee bit mean-spirited, but it makes me giggle, which is much better than the alternative - heaving sobs of frustration and desperation.
But back to this morning. As Lila continued screaming in her bedroom, Elijah fought getting dressed with every fiber of his being. He assumes his demands are reasonable: he must be held 24/7, I must be standing whilst holding him, and he must be facing me at all times. Sadly, as I was cramming a shirt over his head, I was not meeting all of his requirements. Thus, Elijah began to scream as well. In order to avoid my own scream-fest, I plopped Elijah in his crib (his screams then took on a whole new level of loudness), went into the bathroom, turned on the fan and just sat for a while.
I felt like I must be the WORST mother in the world. I was unhappy, and clearly both of my kids were unhappy. Then I started thinking about why I thought I was such a shitty mom. Was it because my kids were crying? Because I wanted to do a little crying myself? Because I had lost my temper for the millionth time and it was only 8am? Where had my subconscious picked up this notion that perfect moms had children who were perpetually blissfully happy, well-behaved, kind, loving, obediant, quiet...etc.? Somewhere along the way I unknowingly created this utopia of motherhood. This blissful ideal for which I so desperately strived, but failed to achieve each and every day. Why on earth have I been setting myself up like this?
These thoughs are nothing new to me. My habits as a perfectionist served me well all through college, grad school and post-grad. Parenting, however, is quite a different beast. I frequently think of the episode of "The Simpsons" where the teachers go on strike and a very strung-out Lisa turned to her mother and screamed, "Evaluate me!!!!" I have to remind myself (and should do a better job with the reminding, for sure) that the ways you know you are doing a good job at parenting are subtle and elusive. But they are there. Elijah is eating like a champ, sleeping like a log, and practically wiggles out of his diaper with happiness everytime I enter a room. Good job, me! Lila tells me she loves me many times a day, her hair looks awesome (if I do say so myself), she loves the clothes I make her and proudly tells anyone who will listen that Mommy made her dress, and she's the smartest, funniest toddler I've ever had the pleasure to know. I know I had a hand in all of these wonderful things.
Not that there isn't room for improvement. So, my plan is to attempt the following:
Cut down on the yelling. It generally doesn't work anyway, stresses me out, and I simply hate yelling.
Be more patient. I know those of you that know me best are rolling your eyes and chuckling to yourselves. I most often lose my temper over the Lila's dawdling. Lordy can that girl dawdle. The most annoying is her habit of stopping cold in a doorway. I am often stuck standing behind her on my way in or out, waiting for her to address whatever it is that caught her attention. But in the grand scheme of things, this is sooooo not worth losing my cool. So, I hope to simply allow more time, let Lila explore and be a toddler. Take a deep breath and just stand there in the doorway so she can check out the ant that just crawled across her path.
Pick my battles. I am a stubborn person, and while that also serves me well in certain areas of my life, it can really backfire when applied to parenting. I get into a mode where every little infraction MUST be transformed into a teachable moment. A valuable lesson learned. Frankly, this just puts waaaaay too much pressure on me and my role as a disciplinarian. I am strict and don't apologize for it, but I also realize that I could stand to let some of the little things go. Like I did when the following happened last week:
I was alone with the kiddos, having a nice afternoon lounging in a pool in the backyard. Suddenly, my dog just went bonkers on my parents' dog, Lucy. I bounded over to break up the fight. It was absolute chaos. I'm pretty sure the workmen across the lake were doubled over laughing at the scene. Molly was circling Lucy, barking and biting. Tanner was circling both of them, barking and biting. I was circling the whole bunch, holding a baby, soaking wet in my bikini, screaming and trying to get close enough to break up the fight without getting bitten. I finally got Molly away and was scolding her when I hear, "Mommy! I POOOOOOOPED!" Yep, Lila had pooped in the yard. Even in my frazzled state I knew it was funny.
So, if I can handle dog fights, yard poop and the like, I can handle anything, right?
