Someone shared the cutest article on FB from ScaryMommy.com. Wanted to share this, as it illustrates the daily challenges and emotional tug-of-war that is parenting....Enjoy!
http://www.scarymommy.com/the-days-theyll-remember/
The Days They’ll Remember
Joelle
is a writer, mom and occasional physical therapist. She lives in the mountains
in Colorado and likes to run the crazy trails behind her house but is terrified
of getting eaten by a mountain lion. This year she co-produced Boulder's
Listen To Your Mother show and she blogs about motherhood at
8500 feet at joellewisler.com You
can also like her Facebook page, Running From Mountain
Lions.
On the best days I patiently,
creatively ward off Monsters. I am able to convince my children that we have
magic Monster-proof paint on our house, or that the Monster is actually very
tiny and wearing a tutu and singing Puff the Magic Dragon.
On the worst days, I get horribly,
loudly frustrated when my child comes upstairs for the fiftieth time, “Just go
to freaking bed, already!” is the last thing they hear from me before they go
to sleep.
On the best days, everyone is
groomed, including me. Clean, sweet-smelling children. Nails clipped, hair
combed and braided, faces free of food or boogers or whatever that brown stuff
is.
On the worst days, they walk
around like little wild animals and the first time I see myself is in the
mirror as I brush my teeth going to bed at night. I am usually a little
frightened by what I see.
On the best days, I look them in
the eyes when they talk to me. I put the computer down. I get down on the
floor. I mentally force the memory of their sweet voice saying, “Mama, Wook!”
to stay with me forever.
On the worst days I say, “Oh my
god, you need to stop singing that song right now before I fling myself out the
window.”
On the best days, I can sit and
watch without intervening as my child attempts for the thirtieth time to put
their favorite, stained, disgusting t-shirt on in the right direction. I don’t
reach forward to help them even once.
On the worst days, I wrestle them
into their clothes. The ones that I want them to wear. They cry. Their blotchy
face clashing mightily with their beautifully coordinated outfit.
On the best days, I am the
memory-keeper of their lives. I am the one who will tell them that, at seven,
they seemed physically unable to sit down at the dinner table or that, once, at
two, after sitting on the potty they looked down and said, “Holy Shit!”
On the worst days, I say “Hurry
Up!” over and over and I rush around and I look past them toward whatever I
have to do next. And I forget.
On the best days, I look away from
the mess; the clothes, the dishes, the floors, the bills, the whatever
whatever. I say, “Do you want to go outside and go for a walk?” And everyone is
so ridiculously excited about this that I feel bad for not looking away more
often.
On the worst days, I let the
stress of living life get to me. I talk with that Crazy Mom voice that I don’t
even know that I have. It happens.
On the best days, when the
homework crying inevitably appears, I slide the work aside and give them a hug
because it isn’t always that important.
On the worst days, when the homework
crying inevitably appears, I talk and talk until even I don’t understand what I’m
saying. And I realize once again why I could never homeschool.
On the best days, I take a large
dose of Chill The F*&$ Out. I take it and I do, I chill out.
Life is usually not that big of a deal.
On the worst days, I push and try
to control everything and ultimately fail and then feel bad and Ugh. Why.
On the best days, I sit and I read
to them. I read and I read until they are ready to be done reading. I read
until piles of books line the side of the chair and they look at me hopefully, “One
more?”
On the worst days, I don’t have
any time to read. Not even one moment to read to them.
On the best days, I think, “Please
remember this.”
And on the worst, I hope they
forget.
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