I wasn't a perfect child, but I was pretty good. Yes, I remember getting spanked, and yes, I got my mouth smacked a time or two (okay, daily), but overall, I didn't give my parents too much cause for worry. I was generally respectful, and I was definitely a rule follower. That's why I simply can't understand my current situation. God saw fit to not give me easy children. I didn't get easily compliant or easy going kids. I got Hallie and Leah. When I was pregnant with Leah, I figured God would have to have some mercy on me and give me one child that I could handle, but I see now that He was only laughing at me behind my back. I would like to think that He gave me these two girls because He believed I was such an amazing mother that I could handle it, but deep inside I know that's just wishful thinking.
As always, I feel like I have to stop here and interject that the reality is I LOVE my children. There probably have never been two children better suited to me in the history of the world. I think it's the very qualities that make them so difficult that also make them so amazing. And I try to remind myself that in the midst of the chaos.
It's just that the chaos is so frequent. Now that I've started back to work, I don't get to see my kids as often, which because I'm a glutton for punishment, makes me very, very sad. Leah has been staying with April on Thursdays. It's one of her favorite days of the week (Leah's, not April's). I, on the other hand, dread it. The other day, I went to pick her up, and as soon as I walked through the door, she started crying. No, not crying. Screaming. Immediately, April says, "I don't know why she does that. She's been so good all day." Of course she has been. As I'm trying to calm that storm, Hallie comes in from outside where she's been playing with Brock. She's pouting and finally tells me it's because Uncle Paul made her come back inside because she called Brock a "dumb boy." I'm not really sure what happened from there. It all happened so fast. There was a slamming bathroom door. A very angry mother. A spanking. A screaming child (the second one in 10 minutes). So, now I have two screaming children, and I'm sweating and trying to get everything together to leave. I wildly throw belongings and furious children in the car and peel out without much more than a "thanks" and "bye." We all three cry all the way home.
For another example, I need only look to last night's soccer practice. We had been having a pretty good afternoon. We were even early to practice. I should have known it couldn't last long. Let me set the scene for you. My wonderful friends were all there decked out in workout apparel, ready for a 7-mile walk after practice. They looked amazing, fit and skinny. My Goodmoodometer ticked down a few ticks. I was in danger of sliding into 'feel sorry for yourself' mode, but I was keeping it together. There's a blanket set out and the children were playing merrily with blocks and toys. As I looked out over everyone's children, I could almost see the sun glinting off their halos. Then, here comes Leah. You know that movie where the baby becomes huge and walks though town destroying everything while people run in horror? Well, that's how I imagine what happened next. She smacks a toy out of someone's hand, she takes a toy from one child and throws it, then she cries so loudly that she makes another child cry. I grab her and tell her to sit in her chair until I tell her she can get up. She promptly says, "I'm gonna get up, Mom." I tell her if she does, I'll spank her. She does, and I do. I put her back in the chair. She looks at me, smiles, and gets back up. I spank her again. Repeat a third time. Even though I try to be inconspicuous and take her away from the crowd, I feel the uncomfortable stares, and I'm totally imagining the worst of what everyone is thinking. My Goodmoodometer is completely broken by this point, and there's really no hope of getting it fixed any time tonight. Again, I'm throwing kids in the car trying to make a quick getaway. I'm white-knuckling it while Leah cries all the way home.
Wonderful, well-meaning people smile that "you poor thing, you just really aren't a very good mother" smile and say things to try and make me feel better like, "We've all been there," and "No child is perfect. Our kids act like that sometimes, too." My question is, WHEN? Does it happen in some bizarro world where everything is opposite because I've surely never been there, thought I think I might like to visit. Soon.
Cut to this morning. I'm sitting here typing, and Leah comes up to me with a book. "Read to me, Mama," she says. I look into those big, brown eyes, and my heart melts for her. I'm so in love with these whining, crying, complaining, spoiled children that my heart hurts. Intellectually, I know I'll look back on these days and be sad they're gone. I'm already a little sad the girls are 5 and 2. No, I don't look like I want to, and yes, my kids are unruly, but this really is the good life. I'm blessed beyond measure. Now, if I make it through raising children, I think I'll choose to look back and remember only what I want to. Probably much like I did with my own childhood.
