Confessions of a Human Mom

I have a secret I must confess.

I am human.  *Gasp!*  I know, it’s a tough pill to swallow.  But I’ve been human for about 34 years now.  Because of the comments and emails I get from many MommyhoodSFS readers, I was beginning to think that I’d given you the impression that I had all the answers – that I had found a way to “cure” my kids somehow, simply because I send out messages of Hope and encouragement so often.  However, I need to remind you that I’m incredibly human with flaws bigger than my actual children!

The crazy thing is, my kids?  They’re human, too.  They’re human with an extra dose of crazy stuffed into their pockets.  And their humanity has been clashing with mine at colossal rates these past few weeks.  Yesterday, I was close to sending them out into the yard with shovels to dig holes (6 feet deep).  But instead, I chose to use words I would not normally say to them, scream until my throat hurt, and stomp my feet very angrily… because stomping angry feet is the tap dance of a Mama who has been pushed well beyond her limit!

(Bing Images - myparenthecial.com)

Did my kids break anything?  No, well, not intentionally.  Did they get suspended at school?  No, just the usual reports.  Were they aggressive?  Destructive?  Raging?  Again, nope.  So why have I unleashed my humanity so ferociously on these precious little people?

The only way that I know to describe it is this:

Imagine that every day, each time you saw your neighbor, he smiled at you and then walked over to shake your hand.  Except instead of shaking your hand, he flicked you in your forehead.  Every day.  Every interaction.  For 4 years.

Eventually, even the calmest person could find themself transformed into the Unabomber.  Not because being flicked on the forehead really hurts, but because it was constant.  Relentless.  And all the evidence points to the fact that it, quite possibly, may never stop.

I can tell you that I would give my neighbor a shovel and he would be out there digging a hole right alongside my kids.

But as for our house, I am constantly being flicked in the proverbial forehead with lying, back-talking, arguing, and the incessant attempts by these short ones to do all they can to tick the other one off.  This is followed by more arguing, more lies, yelling, stealing of toys, and doing things to get the other one in trouble.  For 4 years, this has been our daily constant.  And for almost a month, this has been our every waking moment.

I didn’t realize just how Unabomber I’d become until my kids missed their bus stop one day and were returned to the school at the end of the bus driver’s route.  Instead of them walking in the door at 3:48 that afternoon, I picked them up at 4:15 from the school.  And those 27 minutes were the most glorious of the day.  It was like being a kid and waking up, only to find there was a snow day.  I had 27 more minutes without arguing and fighting… 27 less minutes I had to hold back my humanity until bedtime.

You know you’re human when you wonder if you can leave them at the school even longer and go for a massage.  It was only out of love for our blessed principal that caused me to pick them up in a timely fashion… even if I did take the long way.

I’ve come to realize that I can love my children enough to feel immense anger at them when they act like hateful beasts.  I can love them enough to tap dance and scream when they refuse to follow simple instructions (ones that were given no less than 45 times in 10 minutes).  You see, I used to think it was hate… but I now know that if I hated them, I just simply wouldn’t care.  But I love them so much that I feel sick over the thought that they hate one another – that they may end up with no friends in life – that they may know what the inside of a jail cell looks like.  I love them so much that I am unable to hold back my anger when they act like anything less than human towards others or when they lie to my face for no apparent reason. 

I love them so much that I can have these strong feelings and know that I will survive them just the same.  So, to those of you that have flexed your humanity this week, that have given your kids shovels, or that have threatened the most ridiculous of consequences, you are not alone.  You are human.  And you do this because you love.  Know when to say you’re sorry, know when to own your mistakes.  But let us never question our big feelings, for they are what make us real.

If you, too, are human and need some extra parenting help, click HERE.

The Easter Funny

     There was something magical about this pleasant weekend.... a weekend where there wasn't any stress, bickering was at a minimum, and we were able to have quality family fun. It just so happens we were also celebrating the Easter season AND Cameron and Taylor's 1 year anniversary with us. Usually, holidays or special events lead to terrible acting out and chaos in our home. However, this weekend was entirely different. I decided not to do household chores, leaving me time to just lounge with the kids (thankfully, my mother-in-law decided my chores still needed to be done, so she cleaned my lower level for me while I was at work, freeing up my weekend tremendously!). I spent time reading books to the kids, going to the movies together, shopping and allowing them to finally use their Christmas and birthday money, and letting them play with friends. But most importantly, we spent time talking about the story of Easter in words they understood and explaining why doing the right thing instead of the wrong thing shows respect to the sacrifice that Jesus made for us.
     Cameron, my tender-hearted child, immediately wanted to pray and thank Jesus for dying for him. (My heart melted.) And then he vowed to try to do the right thing from then on. Taylor, my goon, informed me that she's not going to lie anymore because she doesn't want to "have to go up to Core where the bad man will fire her." (Ummm, come again?) It took me a while to realize that she is calling Hell by the name of "Core" (I have no idea how... it's her brain... there's something wrong) and that she thought the bad man (the devil) was going to light her on fire. I realized that she was still struggling with the concepts a bit (and that nightmares were in her future) so I re-explained to her that she won't be lit on fire for lying.... and then she promptly said, "Phew! I guess I get to keep lying then!" I'm starting to think I should've let the Core thing play out for at least a week....
     Cameron came up to me later in the day with a look of panic on his face. "Mommy, I said a lie and I forgot what I'm supposed to do to make that black stuff get off my heart!" I reminded him that when we pray and ask for forgiveness, Jesus takes his big eraser and wipes away the black sin that covers our hearts, making them bright and clean again. Cameron immediately closed his eyes (in the lobby of the movie theater), put his hand over his heart, and rubbed his chest as if he were holding a big eraser. He smiled real big, opened his eyes, and then announced, "Jesus fixed me up. Let's watch this movie already." So we did. And both kids cuddled up with me as we ate movie theater popcorn (the entire tub.... and yes, we all had diarrhea for the rest of the day). And we smiled, and we laughed (well, except for when were were in the bathroom).
     On our way home, Taylor said, "You were really good today, Mommy!" Ouch. Humbled, I was, by the 5-year-old in the booster seat behind me. How awful do I seem to my children on a regular basis when I get told that I've finally had a good day? So I said to her, "Thanks, Tay, you were good, too. What does it mean that I did good today?"
     "You didn't even fart once, Mom!"
   
 And we're back. Happy Easter, Mommies!

Beyond Ridiculous

     Here I go again.... seconds after feeling those lovey-dovey, mush-gushy feelings towards my kids, I'm instantly swept away with visions of hanging them up by their ankles and flogging them with wet noodles. This emotional pendullum that I ride on is literally going to make me crazy (or has it already??). Not that I want to say that my feelings for my kids are circumstantial... that would be wrong (that would be wrong, right?), but when Cameon makes me a loving card one minute and then lies directly to my face the next, it's a legitimate struggle not to give him a shovel and tell him to start digging (don't stop till you reach the 6 foot mark, my friend!).
     For whatever reason, both kids were out of their minds this weekend (hooray for long weekends off of school). Not only were they at each other's throats, but they were insanely hyperactive, impulsive, and downright disobedient. My blesssed mother-in-law babysat for us and I doubt she will ever volunteer again... not that I can blame her. When the kids intentionally don't wear their seat belts and then taunt her about it, call 9-1-1 from her house phone and then lie their pants off, and the projectile vomiting that followed throughout the night, I wouldn't be willing to enlist in that war again either! Then, after Cam and Tay rifled through her belongings, Cameron thought it would be awesome to steal from his grandmother... and then make up a completely fabricated story to explain how he got the loot. And THEN he lied repeatedly to try to get Taylor in trouble.
     Naturally, Cameron is the victim in all of this. Obviously. I'm a mean mom, Dad's a mean dad, Taylor's the worst sister possible. That's why he smashed her water bottle to bits and broke her toy bin.... and then blamed her for it (AGAIN). And this was on top of all the normal everyday things they do that drive me bonkers (writing in toothpaste on the mirror the second I've finished cleaning the house, flooding the bathroom during their showers, leaving every light on in the house, showing complete inability to pick up their toys, and the constant throwing of clean clothes into the dirty clothes hamper). We had Cameron tested.... he's well into the average range with his IQ, so he's obviously not stupid (Taylor, we just don't know about yet), so WHY in the world does he put more of an effort into making my scream than simply using his powers for good??
     Weekends used to be my time to recover from the long week.... but now, I can't wait to go back to work. I need more of a break from these ridiculous children than from busting my butt at work and dealing with severely mentally ill clients. I just don't have time for all this nonsense! Is this normal?? Do Moms feel this way regularly or are my kids worse than the general population? I remember nannying for several different families and never having feelings of utter madness like this.... did I just get old and less tolerant? Or are these knuckleheads beyond ridiculous?

Not The Mama

     What a week it's been! I finally feel caught up on sleep after my horrid week on-call, we started gymnastics, we had our first soccer practice AND soccer game (Pat has no idea who won after watching the entire match.... men.), and we sat through an all-day training on the enjoyable topics of "common mental illnesses in foster children" with the added fun of "deviant and normal sexual behaviors in children". Although the information was very, well, informative, it wasn't exactly a bring-on-the-party-hats kind of day. But all of this has been for one thing....the benefit of the kids and to make them ours forever....
     Only there's one small hitch. I'm pretty sure the kids hate me. Ok, maybe they don't hate me, but I'm certainly not the love of their lives, or even the like of their lives for that matter. I'm nothing more than a stand-in mother they were given when all of their other mother-options were taken away. (I'm pretty sure it's not technically a pity-party if there's no cake involved....)
     Cameron got in trouble the other night after he blatantly lied to my face and then emptied half the bottle of shampoo out (after this being a REPEATED offense with REPEATED consequences). I scolded him, told him I loved him, but that it hurts my feelings that he doesn't even feel the need to apologize for lying to me. I also informed him that he missed snack while he was busy dumping out the shampoo and that he can try again tomorrow. This brought on gut-wrenching sobs that sounded like that "tired cry" I've heard tell about from parents with babies and small children. I figured he'd wear himself out and fall asleep.... but after almost 40 minutes of unconsolable weeping, he pulled himself together (well, sort of), came to my room and apologized. I hugged him and thanked him for making such a good choice. I told him I loved him once more. He left my room and returned minutes later to ask if he could move to a new foster home. (Ok, well that hurts.) When I asked him why he wanted to move, as calmly as I could muster the question, he responded that he just doesn't like being here and it makes him sad. I told him that all parents would send him to bed for lying and emptying the shampoo out, but that even besides that, this isn't a foster home, this is HIS home... the home where he is going to stay forever when we adopt him because we LOVE him and would be heartbroken if he left. Tears ran down his face as he said, "I just think I want to live somewhere else, ok?" I told him we were all tired and we would talk about it in the morning.... And then I cried myself to sleep.
     But at least I have Taylor on my side, right? Afterall, she's been super-affeactionate the last few weeks, barely talking about her biological family, and calling me "Mommy" fairly regularly. (Yes, I recognize it's selfish, but I do LOVE the title of Mommy.... I didn't have them call me that until I knew we were going to be keeping them, but it's been a struggle to make the switch to this new title/name, one that I wasn't quite sure how to broach....one that I apparently failed at.) Taylor informed me this evening that she hates calling me "Mommy". (Ok, seriously kids? Space out the heartache a little more for Mommy...oh wait, Shivonne.) When I asked her why she hated calling me that, she wouldn't look at my face. She told me that maybe when she gets big she will call me Mommy, but she doesn't want to now. I told her that's fine and that she could call me a different name if she wants.... Mama, perhaps. She thought about it for a second and gave me a "Maybe" that didn't sound very hopeful. She went the rest of the evening being completley un-affectionate and she didn't even ask for a tuck-in at bedtime (something that would normally induce an all-out tantrum if missed).
     So, after the last few weeks of doing nothing but pouring myself out for my two kids, I realize that my "Super Mom" efforts were in vain. Not only am I not a Super Mom, but I'm not even wanted as a regular mom. I'm the rule-maker, the woman that makes dinner, and the one that tells them to brush their teeth longer than 3 seconds.... I'm the person that spends so much of her time trying to heal their rejected hearts that she end up feeling rejected herself. (I know, tonight's blog needs a black box warning. Maybe we can all go scream at the elderly or kick some puppies to feel better, as my husband would suggest.) But have no fear, I will continue my efforts at winning over the hearts of my children.... such a task most mothers are blessed to never have to endure. It's the path I'm on and the one that I will continue to treck until we truly are one, big, happy family. In the meantime, maybe I can pretend to be a Mommy for Halloween.... gotta start somewhere, I guess!