Most
school day mornings at my house go something like this:
Mama
wakes up at 6 am and tries to get an hour to herself before someone else wakes
up. Somewhere
between 6:01 and 7:15, the kiddos get up.
We make
smoothies and oatmeal or toast or cereal. The kids eat and I start to
encourage. Time to get dressed. Finish
your breakfast. You need to brush your hair. Please put your toys away. You've got to get those teeth brushed &
that face washed.
Somewhere
around 8:15, it turns a little naggy. Why
are you making crafts? Where is your underwear? No, you can't wear shorts
today. Actually, your teacher probably doesn't need a homemade card from you today,
really. Are you wearing jammies to
school? EAT your food.
Around
8:30, the heat turns up. Did you hear me??
You cannot go to school like that! Why didn't you tell me you had homework last
night? Why are you petting the dogs right now? Where.are.your.shoes?!
BRUSH YOUR HAIR!!
And on more
days than I'd like to admit, it gets worse. Sometimes there is screaming. Sometimes
there is crying. Occasionally there is cursing. And that's the mama. Too many
days, at 8:45 am, I usher the kids out the door with a little speech that goes
so something like this: "I love you,
but we cannot live like this." We kiss and hug and the kids walk off
to school and I'm frustrated with myself and they are frustrated with me and it
feels terrible and I go drown myself in a vanilla latte at Starbucks and pray
that they will be able to afford their own therapy when they grow up.
Friday
was one of those mornings at my house. Except that since it is Christmastime, I
drowned my sorrows in a peppermint mocha.
I have
talked with enough friends to know that we aren't the only home where mornings
are hard.
But I
can't shake the feeling that there's a mama or two in Newtown, Connecticut who
had our same kind of frantic morning on Friday and sent her kids off to school
in a state of frustration. That someone's last words to her child were a
statement of exasperation. And my heart especially breaks for her.
Because
we ARE good mamas. We want our kids to be well fed. Clean. Warm. Ready to
learn. It's why we encourage, nag, even sometimes raise our voices to get our
kids out the door and to school on time.
Oh,
mamas. If your last words were ones you wish you could take back, I pray you
will know the gift of mercy and you will have every assurance that your child
knew how much you loved them.
And may I
remember your precious child the next time we are having one of “those mornings,” take a deep breath, and put
it all into perspective.
I have been having very similar thoughts, and I appreciate the eloquence with which you expressed them. I will never forget when T was little and C was a baby, and I could not get him to nap. I expressed my frustration, and then felt really bad about how angry I had gotten. I went in to apologize, and told him he would go to his Grandma's after he woke up. His response was, "And then I can never come back home?" Sweet boy, and I had really torn at his heart. I really pray for those mamas.
ReplyDeleteTo a beautiful, powerful, loving, kind, sweet, stern Mama. I'm sending love to you AND your kiddos. :)
ReplyDeleteOh my, Sarah. It's not nice to make a mama cry in the lobby of gymnastics.
ReplyDeleteNearly all of my mornings look like what you describe -- especially with Pippi. And oh don't you know that I thought about those Newtown mamas and all the things they must have been replaying in their minds. It actually makes my heart stop for a few beats.
Here's another take worth reading: http://www.suburbansnapshots.com/2012/12/the-slow-return-to-our-new-normal.html