Both Ends of the Chain
I was not at my best yesterday. Not even at my so-soest. I woke up groggy after a bad night of sleep in which Felix nursed and scratched me with his too-long toenails for what seemed like hours on end. We snuggled a bit in the bed and I thought to myself, “What if today is my last day? What if I knew that tomorrow I would be dead, how would I use this last bit of time?” It brought tears to my eyes and I kissed Felix’s dirty hair and felt the tenderness rise up in me.
Two hours later I was losing my shit. There was arguing, there were raspberries spilled all over the floor, there was adolescent ugliness. We were out of milk. Of course the kids wanted cereal so I let them have cream on it to keep the peace but I bet you can guess that it didn’t work. I was summoned halfway through my bath to get out and help Felix on the toilet. He went downstairs to be with Lola after that and I thought I might be able to rinse the soap off in a leisurely fashion, but they lasted about two minutes before they were fighting and yelling at each other and screaming for me to save them. I HATE trying to talk with someone on a different floor of the house, and two someones is even worse. (I mean seriously, come to me if you need to talk to me, right?) Having to go downstairs in a towel to break up a sibling fight (between my kids who are 9 1/2 years apart, mind you) makes me feel a little, uh, short tempered you might say. Felix was throwing Bananagrams at Lola. She was having the kind of overreactive flip out that only an eleven year old girl can have and he thought it was super fantastic to have such power. And so the morning went. We had plans to go somewhere to play, but could. not. get. out. the. door. So I gave up. And even so, there continued to be complaining and wailing and tantrums about popsicles.
Things looked like this:
I was not liking my job. I turned snappy and crabby and felt not the tenderness but the martyrdom rise up. A headache built steadily and I nagged at Lola, pointing out a whole slew of things she had forgotten to do. I did some quiet begging with desperation in my voice. I shoved the laundry into the washer while yelling for the eighteenth time, “If you want to talk to me, come to the room where I am for God’s sake!”
We had lunch. We read about sharks. I got Felix ready for his nap. Brushing his teeth sucks 90% of the time and today it sucked. He wouldn’t open his mouth and I didn’t have much patient cajoling left in me. When he bit the toothbrush yet again I yelled, “Felix! Knock it off!” and finished the rest of the toothbrushing in a quick, rough way.
Then I remembered. What if I’m not here tomorrow? What if my children are motherless after today? Or, and it hurts to even type the words, what if I am left without them? And that’s when I felt that pull on both ends of the mothering chain. Simultaneously frustrated enough to worry for my sanity, and entirely vulnerable because of my love for them. It’s the hardest, hardest part about being a mom for me, that juxtaposition. There’s the intensity of putting your own needs on hold and the intensity of being available, and willing, most all the time, but neither of those compare to the intensity of being laid bare by love. It’s not something you can escape from or harden yourself to. The only respite is distraction.
The rest of the day continued to be defeating. I’d like to say that I turned things around and we had a great afternoon where I appreciated the hell out of my kids, but the nap was short, the fighting and whining continued, the headache worked it’s way into my jaw and we didn’t even set foot outside the house until 3:00. But we did finally have the coveted popsicles together in the yard and I looked on my children with alternating annoyance and affection. The humanness of it all is humbling.
Wow, Ivy. Another gem! I love your honesty. This helps me to take it easy on myself, so I can imagine it will help many more!
Thank you Leigh, it means a lot coming from an amazing mom and writer like you.
We’re complicated people, thankfully, and doing the best we can. You’re a wonderful Mom or wouldn’t agonize and fret over how you’re doing or what you’re doing. Like bridal showers where everyone is all gooey over the impending marriage and stories always end, “…and they lived happily ever after,” I once got the stinkeye from a room full of women when I dared to utter, “It’s hard. Good luck!” We know our darling children, no matter how extraordinary, above average, amazing, and unlike any other child in the whole wide world, has little devil horns that lie in wait under their soft little locks. Thankfully, we have them too or we’d be boring as dirt. The story fails to mention this or prepare us for what to do when the well is dry, the energy spent, and the rope has snapped. Locks on doors have been invented partly for this purpose, but you have more resources then most, and your big wise heart won the day. You triumphed over the hard reality of what life had dealt you this particularly difficult day. You moved into a beautiful graceful place and your gratitude trumped all. Not surprising. You’re amazing! Thanks for sharing your wisdom, grace and preciousness. Oh, and your kids are fine. Great, in fact. And that’s what counselors are for when they get older!
Kathy, so true. Marriage is hard, parenting is hard, life is hard. I think it’s the acceptance and admitting of that that leads to grace. Why we have to learn that lesson over and over is a mystery to me though!
This is so, so good. I have been there more often than not. Occasionally I come away with new knowledge, which softens the harsh edges of the day. Other times, not so much, and I’m left trying to get past the guilt of being human rather than super mom. My only comfort at those times is knowing that it is good for my kids to see that — that I have limits, how I handle those limits (for better or worse!), and that at the end of the day the love is still there. Thanks for this post.
I’m embarrassed to admit how many of my days are like this, at least in part. But, yes, I do think it’s good for our kids to see us struggle from time to time. We want them to grow up accepting their own imperfections and yet I know that I often have a hard time modeling that in a gracious way. Still trying to become the kind of person I want to be!
Ivy, thanks for writing about something we all (a lot of dads included) experience. I have a question for you. What is the thing you miss the most about your pre-parenting life? Sleeping in? Leisurely meals? Etc. For me, I miss having truly carefree times. Now, even the times I have away from my kids are infiltrated with frequent worries/concerns/thoughts about their well-being. I never knew how carefree my life was before – I think if I had it to do over again I’d appreciate that more now. Too bad it doesn’t work that way!
Jessica, I’ve been thinking a lot about your question, and I feel much the same way about it as you. The thing I miss most is something I never even knew I had before kids. Being carefree, as you say, is part of it. Being a parent, you know that you might always be called upon. No matter how wonderful a person you have caring for your child, if something bad happens, you need to be there. And there are always the questions and worries that float around in your head even in the best of times. The other part of it for me though, is knowing that I could be so easily destroyed but something happening to my children. And yet we have to send them out into the world anyway where we have no control over what life might throw at them. So it’s hard to put a name on what I miss most. Not always feeling so vulnerable, I guess. But of course, that vulnerability has made me stronger and more compassionate than I was before so I would never wish it away. It’s complicated stuff.