Last week was one of those weeks when everything seemed to be a problem and I couldn’t help but wonder if becoming a parent was a wise decision.
Every time I turned around those little (and big) rugrats were testing my patience and driving me absolutely crazy!
It seemed as though I wasn’t cut out for the role of mother, and I wondered if I was the only one who felt like the exact opposite of June Cleaver.
I’ve never worn an apron, don’t usually cook with a big white toothy grin; my home looked like a major gust of wind swept through it, the kids were dirty, my plants were dying (honestly, I’m convinced that instead of a green thumb, mine is actually black), and I was ready to scream.
One evening I returned home from work 10 minutes early and surprise . . . I caught my little angels breaking the rules.
They are home for an hour after school and have strict instructions not to have friends over or go outside until I get home.
The second my daughter saw me, she burst into tears and ran to her room. She knew she was in trouble. Her poor friend, not knowing my rules, looked around confused and quickly left.
My son came in from outside and immediately started making up excuses as to why he had forgotten the rules.
They were told to stay in their rooms, and I cancelled two activities they were looking forward to.
The protests they screamed could have been heard a mile away. I’m shocked no one nearby called the police thinking my children were in danger.
“You’re ruining my life!” one cried, while the other screamed, “You’re the worst mom ever!”
As I stood there listening to simultaneous tantrums, my oldest waltzed in the door asking what was for dinner.
All it took was one look from me and he figured out it would be in his best interest to walk away and not say another word.
Total chaos had enveloped my home, and I hadn’t even had time to take my shoes off or set my purse down.
Now two of my children were crying and one was mad at me because he hadn’t done anything wrong except ask about dinner.
Then the guilt set in you know the time period where you wonder if your punishment was too harsh, or if you did the right thing.
I went outside and called the one person who could relate, and advise me my mom. (Because in my world there sure isn’t any Ward Cleaver to consult with).
By this time, I was near tears as I explained to grandma what her sneaky little grandchildren had done and how awful I felt about how I handled it.
After I described the situation, I told my mom that I never knew it would be so hard to discipline children, that as a kid I had thought, maybe, my mom enjoyed punishing me.
She told me that the kids were trying to make me feel guilty, to get out of trouble, and it was working.
Those conniving actors!
I walked back through the door with a new attitude. As they stomped around their rooms, and continued to act as though their lives were over, I announced, “Go ahead, lay on the water works! Nothing you can say or do will change anything, I’m not listening to it anymore!”
I went about making supper and ignored the next few outbursts from my children.
Eventually they figured out that they weren’t getting anywhere with their dramatics and they just had to accept their punishments, or so I thought.
This is when I decided to put my acting skills to the test. I went about making supper, very quietly, and put on my sad face. They aren’t the only ones who know how to pout.
Whether this was the right or wrong thing to do, I’m not sure but it wasn’t long before I found out my children really do have a conscience sort of.
One child wrote a short apology note and the other hugged me and said, “You really aren’t the worst mom ever,” while looking at me with cute puppy dog eyes, then dared to add, “Now can I be un-grounded?”
What do you think happened next? He was sent back to his room by the worst mom ever!