Here's what I will tell you: Some days, its hard. Like, a few weeks ago, I opened my eyes at 6:45 on a Saturday to hear my 4 and 5 year old fighting in the living room, the baby screaming in her crib and I realize, almost immediately, that my patience well did not refill over night. Its too early, there was too much whining yesterday that lasted all the way until bedtime and even after, when they found 10 reasons to get out of bed. There was too much fighting between the older two, too much fussing from the baby, too much yelling from Mommy. If they would have slept in another 30 minutes (or an hour- or two!), or played happily and quietly for just a little while longer, the morning would probably go completely differently. I wouldn't feel the urge to jump out of bed and fuss at them for the same reasons I did yesterday. For some reason it feels like I didn't get any rest, and I'm waking up to the exact situation as yesterday. And its like it all hits me at once- the exhaustion, the frustration, the sick-of-the-same-crap every single day rut. I've found myself here before, and I know that its going to pass. But when I'm in it, it feels like I'm the worst mother in the world when all I can do is day dream about being left alone for five whole minutes. My patience well is empty. I know it, and they know it. But that doesn't change anything. Everyone still needs to be fed, diapers need to be changed, teeth need to be brushed... fights need to be broken up, toy sharing needs to be regulated. The house is a mess, and its been one of those mornings. The dog needs to be let out and fed. Of course when I open the back door he bolts across the yard like lightning (we don't have a fenced in backyard). So I spend the next 15 minutes trying to coax him back to the house. I get within a few feet and he's off again, like a race horse. I hear banging on the window from the dining room. Its Maggie yelling, but I already know what she's telling me. Someone didn't push their chair in and I can see a tiny little 15 month old standing on the dining room table holding a cup full of water. She's dancing and splashing the water into the air like she's at a Taylor Swift concert. I run inside and take the baby down off the table, push in the chairs and put the baby in the play pen. She's screaming bloody hell, but she has to be contained for a few minutes while I deal with the rest of the chaos- the dog running laps through muddy puddles in the backyard and the older two girls fighting over yet another toy that neither will care about in an hour. I run out to the back porch and yell/beg the dog to come back, and finally bribe him with a treat. Once the dog has been dealt with, I walk back inside just in time to see Mollie drinking my coffee (just what she needs) and Maggie standing on the couch pretending to be a princess in a tower (which is so typical). Then, I turn around to see this:
See, this is the play room. I'll be honest...The playroom is usually clean for about 30 minutes. I have learned that there is nothing more inviting for children to play in than a clean play room. So yesterday, when I spent 45 minutes cleaning, organizing and getting everything just right, the girls followed me in and immediately dove into playing for the next hour. I knew the room was being destroyed, but I was trying to make dinner and I needed them to be busy for a little while. Besides, its a play room. Its meant to be played in. I'm trying to convince myself more than you, because nothing irritates me more than a room in complete and total disarray. I'm not an OCD clean person, I'm actually the opposite. I'm more of a "sanitary" person. I don't like things to be gross messy. If you know me, you know I'm not a "Pottery Barn Perfect" house kinda person. I'm all about vacuuming and sweeping and keeping the house tidy, but its never ever perfect. But something about a toy shelf totally dismantled for no apparent reason really gets under my skin. I try hard to ignore it, but with me running at a 0 on patience today, I can't. I corral everyone into the play room. "YOU MADE THIS MESS. I didn't. You will stay in here and help me clean it." I have to point to every little thing to be picked up. Of course whenever its time to clean up, they are "sooo tired" that they just can't lift a finger. Well, I am in no mood for that. After 30 minutes or so they finally bring me all the small toys and I start to put them away in their designated bins. Finally the room is clean again. It feels much better. I'm starting to feel a little tiny bit better. The girls seem to start acting a little better.
(You might be asking yourself this question: If its a Saturday, then where is Chris? Well, he was called out at 12:30am to work and came home around 4:30 smelling like grease. Or train tracks, as I like to call it. He's exhausted, and I'm exhausted. But I slept way more than he did, so I'm dealing with the morning routine while he catches up on sleep.)
I hate being in a mommy rut like this. I really hate to fuss and yell. I hate when I wake up in the same crappy mood as I was in the day before. I hate it when my patience well doesn't refill. Sometimes after a hard day, I fall into bed like its a cloud. And everyone wakes up feeling refreshed, I can handle being woken up at 6:30 for no reason, and life is good. It seems like they could do anything and I wouldn't bat an eye. I have nothing but patience and love for my beautiful children. And then sometimes I wake up and feel like I never went to sleep. It always seems like when I'm at my wits end, the girls are non stop. Some days are filled with crafts, baking and hugs. We take trips to the library, we go shopping, we snuggle and watch movies. Other days are filled with time outs, fussing, and fighting naps. Being a mommy is not always sweet and fun. Being a mommy is not always easy. Some days, I literally have to pray my way to bedtime. I repeat over and over in my head: Lord, calm my heart and give peace to my soul. Sometimes I pray Please God let this be a good day. Because I really don't like having bad days. But when it seems like all day someone needs something, and while I'm getting that something, someone else needs something else, and it all just snowballs. Its very easy to feel overwhelmed. Its easy to get so far into the rut that just hearing someone say "Mommy" can make you cringe- as awful as that sounds. Now that the girls are older, I will literally say to them "I don't want to have a bad day. I want to start over. Please try very hard to be nice to each other, and listen to mommy today. Let's have a good day! Okay??" And then we high five. (You'd be surprised how much that helps too!)
Somewhere around 9:30, I lay the baby down for her morning nap. I make a second cup of coffee, and sit down on the couch. And slowly, I start to feel better- the girls are playing well together (finally), I've done a speed clean over the kitchen and front room, and gradually the day has started to feel less chaotic. Chris wakes up and he's still tired, but he's in a good mood. I've repeated my prayer over and over in my head, and I start to feel it- my well is refilling. I start to feel overwhelmed with emotions- guilt, for one, and love. And also? Perspective. Suddenly, I step outside of the tiny world I've been sucked into. I step away from the every day irritations that have gotten under my skin: the messes, the fighting, the disobeying, the wild tantrums. I see my babies. I'm not dealing with little adults here. They don't have the capability to reason like adults do. They just do what they want at that moment. Its incredibly difficult to think like a 3 year old. It doesn't matter if you cannot, for the life of you, make sense of what they've done. They might not even be able to makes sense of it. But if its done, then its done and there is a reason why in their minds. Before I realize it, I am staring at Mollie, watching her build a lego tower. She's meticulously choosing which one will be added next. She's sitting on her tiny little knees, and every so often pushes her hair behind her ear. She pauses and puts her thumb in her mouth, almost as if it will help her think. A minute or so later she pops it out and picks up her tower and turns right to me. "Look Mommy! Its Rapunzel's tower!" She is beaming with pride. And suddenly she looks so little. Because she is. She's a tiny little 4 year old person. And she's just so adorable. I think of how hard I was on her earlier when she was screeching and running in circles around me. She needs to be disciplined, but she needs to feel how much I love her more. I spend a lot of time praying that my girls can feel how much I love them, even when you can't hear it in my voice or see it on my face- because it is masked by frustration.
Some days I have spend so much time counting to three that the baby finishes for me after I yell out "ONE!" by yelling "CHOO! FREEE!!!" And no matter how annoyed I am, I have to laugh. She's adorable. I mean like, make me want to snuggle her and smother her with kissies adorable. (And I mean, who can resist a baby who climbs like spider-baby?) Even when its hard, even when it seems impossible, my blessings surround me. These little ones who drive me batty sometimes? I prayed I would get pregnant with them. I spent half of my teenage years wishing this time of my life would come. And here it is. So why can't I wake up every day feeling like I'm Gwyneth Paltrow- Mommy of the Year? Why can't I enjoy every last second of it, really soak it all up, and have never ending patience?? Because, this is real life. Everyone has a limit and everyone needs a break. Even Gwyneth. I look over at Maggie- the same child who just minutes earlier was trying to rip a toy from her sister's hand- and all I can see are red curls cascading down to her waist. She's wearing her Rapunzel wedding dress, and she's looking down at her feet. She slowly starts to dance around the room, and she really looks like a little cartoon character- with her bright red curls and big dark brown eyes. There again I see it- how blessed I am.
When the day begins and I can tell already its not going to go well, I have to remind myself of how abundantly blessed I am. Its also so incredibly important to communicate your feelings to your spouse, let them know how you're feeling and ask for their help. You are a team! We've been married long enough that Chris knows almost immediately when he walks in the door if I'm not feeling 100%, and based off the way the kids are acting, he usually doesn't even have to ask why. Mommy alone time is critical. Find time to be alone, to "get away" from being Mommy for a few minutes. With prayer and a few minutes to yourself, the well begins to refill. You can handle more if you've had a few minutes to think clearly. Get a message. Or go to Target alone. Or take a bath and drink a glass of wine. Find yourself. Remember yourself. Do what you love. Remember what you love. Did I mention you should drink a glass of wine? Relax. It gets better- so much better. Refill your well. When your well is empty, you know it, and they know it. When your well is full, your heart is full. You can discipline lovingly, which is how it should always be done. Being a mother is hard sometimes. Its okay to admit it. But sometimes, being a mommy is better than anything else in the world. My mom always says "Being a mother is the hardest job you'll ever love."
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