Sunshine & Rainbows

Today I had sort of a bad day. Not devastatingly bad in the grand scheme of things, but still I wonder sometimes how my brain can take such everyday and normal tasks and morph them into monsters lurking behind armchairs waiting to pounce on me while I’m just trying to get the stupid laundry done.

The synopsis is that it started out good with work but ended with a snotty toddler whose favorite word is “no” and who (we just got the call from the awards committee!) is now in the running for World’s Most Dramatic Tantrum Thrower. At one point prior to bedtime I seriously considered the pros and cons of crawling underneath the area rug to hide while I yanked out my hairs one. By. One.

My gray hairs.

I mean, how did those 19th century farm women do it? … nine or so kids, no washing machines or dishwashers … churning their own butter, sewing clothes, keeping everyone moral, and not even thinking about taking Prozac? I wouldn’t have made it. I cannot even deal with one child, one almost full-time job, and some minor housekeeping duties.

But I think that maybe part of it can be attributed (at least today’s challenges) to my attempt to make Asian Peanut Sauce. Thank the good Lord that my husband bought egg noodles in bulk during his last visit to Kroger because my culinary experiments tonight were real live proof that the third time’s the charm. I am not even exaggerating: THREE times I tried to make this stir-fry meal (during which time The Goose made quite a scene of throwing himself prostrate at my feet declaring, “HEEEeeeeellllppp Mama!!!!!!!!!!” as if he were clinging to the side of a cliff rather than just attempting to remove the cap from the Playdoh container.

He woke up from his nap in this horrendous mood which involved sporadic crawling around on the floor screaming NOoooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I met him at the top of the stairs and said,

“Would you like some apple juice?”

“NOOOOooooo!!!!!!!!!!” (cue crawling, writhing, head banging, and gnashing of teeth)

“OK, can you think of anything else you’d like to drink?”

“NOOOOoooooo!!!!!!!!!” (more dramatics) “I want APPLE JUICE!!!!!! APPLE JUICE!!!!”

“OK, let’s go downstairs and get some apple juice.”

“NOOOOOoooo!!!!!!!!!! Go DOWNSTAIRS! Get apple juice!!!!!!!!!!!” (crawl, writhe, gnash)

Intermission.

Recently I was talking on the phone to my dear friend Francesca and was conveying some of my worst moments of the past year and she was saying how she never would’ve guessed that I’d had even a somewhat difficult year based on my blog. And so I want to say that I don’t just write all sunshine and rainbows to cover up anything. I write it because usually I can’t remember the bad stuff unless it’s super fresh.

Well tonight it’s fresh.

So after I cleaned up massive amounts of corn starch, soy sauce, and dried bits of blue Playdoh, I sat down to watch “Grey’s Anatomy.” And I’m sitting there on my couch sort of sobbing and feeling sorry for myself and folding tiny poop-stained Spiderman underwear (which, by the way, I did NOT sew – or even purchase by myself) and part of the show was about this little girl who gets run over by a car driven by her nanny. And her nasty mom and dad are arguing about whose fault it is and yelling at the nanny and the mom is saying how she’s not to blame just because she loves her job … she loves her kid too! But she’s just not good at this whole mothering thing.

And I had said that to Husband earlier tonight. I had said that EXACT thing about ten minutes prior as I drug a sobbing Goose from the rocking chair to the Big Boy Bed in an attempt to distract him from a stuffed frog backpack which he was insisting upon wearing to bed. And here is this woman on TV who thinks the same thing. And for a minute I thought, “Phew! At least I’m not the only one who cannot seem to make consistent use of the implements in her Maternal Instincts Toolbox." Heck, half the time I can’t even find my toolbox.

Today is his 26-month birthday by the way.

And then I got the first little glimmer of hope that I’d had in approximately 11 hours: I felt strangely brave. That was the only positive adjective I could put to it. I felt like a terrible mom because I’d been impatient with my on-the-verge-of-a-cold toddler … and a terrible cook because I’d ruined a relatively simple meal not once but TWICE … and a terrible friend to Husband because I fell apart as soon as he walked in the door for dinner. And on top of that I had this nagging voice in my head that was saying, “Yes, you are really pathetic … you with your supportive family and interesting job and cute, smart kid --- and all the while there are people starving, people hurting, wars raging.”

There have been many times when I’ve thought, “I’ll just go back to law school, get a high-paying job, and then I can hire a nanny and a housekeeper.” Because to me, right now, that definitely seems easier. And it would probably make me feel smart and confident and successful, whereas in the role of Mostly Mom I often feel like a stupid, unsure failure. How’s that for sunshine and rainbows? Well, it’s true. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever, ever done.

But still, I’m just gonna get up tomorrow morning and try again and tell myself that that’s called BRAVE. I’m gonna smile and offer apple juice despite the choruses of NO, the piles of dirty laundry and leftover Drastically Wrong Stir-Fry jeering from the balcony, and the Monday Morning Root Canal looming at the end of my weekend.

I get frustrated sometimes because whenever I’m honest about how hard it is for me to be a parent, people often say, “Yeah, and you only have ONE.” Why can’t we just admit that it’s hard no matter how many there are? Sure, it MUST be harder with two. And with three or more, well, you’re just outnumbered. But tonight I feel like admitting that even one is difficult for me. I’m a perfectionist and Lord knows you cannot be perfect at parenting. But I will try again tomorrow … partly because there’s nothing else to do (aside from pretending to drive down to Kroger with the full intention of just going all the way south to the beach) … but mostly because I want to. Mostly.

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow'.”

p.s. I think he's got my butt.