I am not only a member of the PTA, but I attend each and every meeting. I volunteer my time at school functions. I am a Girl Scout leader. I make home made Halloween costumes. I crochet Christmas gifts. I do crafts with my kids. If I am not running here, I am running there. I have so much on plate, but seem to get it all done.
I can also pretend. I may appear to be Super Mom, but if you look closer, you will realize I am not.
My house is a mess. My list of unfinished projects is almost as long as those I have finished. I have a smile on my face, but I may not be truly happy. I yell at my children. Oh, how I yell.
My children could care less about the projects I have not finished. They could care less about the mess, which most often leas to the yelling. And the yelling they care about.
Sunday night. Just home from my in-laws and a mountain of things to do before the kids went to bed. My son didn't finish putting his toys away before we left, but now he was "too tired" to do it. My daughter needed to wash some of the dishes. I needed room in the kitchen to bake the following day. The dry skin on her elbow hurt and the soap only makes it worse.
I asked. I pleaded. I began to yell. They wouldn't have time to play with glow sticks in the tub if they didn't finish their chores.
Things were beginning to unravel, but they finally finished their jobs.
My son played in the tun while my daughter practiced her flute. But he finished his bath first. He quickly dressed and ran downstairs to pester her. Already being frustrated with her flute practice, she began to yell. I yelled at my son as I stormed up to the bathroom too prepare my daughter's bath.
All was calm while she played, but when the last drop of water drained from the tub, tempers flared again. I was tired. I had enough. I yelled and scolded for the things they have not done. Daily chores that are ignored. Too many toys taken out that take too long to put away.
"Why do I have to keep reminding you? Why do you make me yell? I am not happy! I am very disappointed!"
My children shuffled off to bed while I escaped to the couch, holding back tears. I heard what I said and I didn't like it. My children went to bed upset and I did not like it. I needed to apologize and let them know just how much I love them.
I returned to the steps and began to climb. As I reached the top step I realized it was not my children who had disappointed me. It was me who disappointed my children. The proof was sitting on the floor outside my son's room.
Mom not alawde
(Mom not allowed)
This may very well be the hardest post I have written. I want to be the kind of mom my kids look back on as adults and think how great their childhood was. I try. I really do. But on this night I failed. Lately I feel like I fail more than I succeed. The proof is on the paper.