I recently told my mom “Now I know why you were so cranky when we were growing up”. The minute I said it I regretted it. That isn’t what I meant. It came out all wrong. Of course I don’t look back on my childhood thinking that my mom was always cranky. Most of my childhood memories are of laughter and smiles, but I do remember the feeling of thinking to myself “geesh Mom, I was only asking…” and wondering why I didn’t always get an answer with a smile. If we could rewind life to that moment you would see me walking into a room where my mom was trying to cook dinner, clean the house, keep track of my younger sisters and asking her something like “can you take me to my friends house right at this very minute since you have nothing else to do?”. Sofia asked me the other day why I was always so angry. At first I was a bit surprised, but now that I think about it that is usually what she hears. I told her I am not angry, just frustrated she doesn’t listen to me. The other day she asked why I had to yell, and I said I wouldn’t have to yell if she would listen to me when I was talking to her. She only seems to pay attention to what I am saying if I am saying it loudly.
One of the meetup groups we belong to went to CHAP (Children’s Healing Art Project) for an hour of painting and crafts. They really should call it the Children and Parent’s Healing Art Project. You walk in, put on a smock and can pretty much paint anything you see. It was nice to just be with Sofia and not have to tell her no, don’t touch, put that down, can you please just calm your body for two seconds before I freak the s@#$! out. We painted, we glued, we glittered and collaged. I didn’t have to yell, didn’t need to yell, didn’t want to yell. It was an hour of peace and fun, laughter and smiles. I am hoping it is something she always remembers. I know I will. What I am choosing to forget is when I told Sofia it was time to go home and she smacked me in the face with a hand covered in glue and glitter. There was whisper yelling and threats of timeouts when we got home. But hey, it is all what we choose to remember right?
“Mommy, can I be a movie star?”
“Sure, you can be anything”
“Great, I’m going to be a movie star. A BIG one”
“Oh bean, I don’t doubt it.”
“You can be a little one okay? But I am going to be a big one.”
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“Hey there little miss movie star!”
“No, I’m not a movie star yet”
“Oh sorry, when are you going to be one?”
“At 3:30.”
Yesterday was a rough day, and it carried on into the evening. One of those days where you feel like your legs are moving really fast but you are moving in dry sand so you really aren’t going anywhere, not getting much return for your effort. I won’t lie, it wasn’t a very good “mommy” day for me. A good mommy day is one where there are Sofia eats three solid meals, I dance around tantrums with very little notice and a whole lot of grace, and by 8pm the bean is asleep in her own bed and I am on the couch, house cleaned, wine in hand. A bad mommy day for me looks very different. It is one with tantrums, food fights, piles of laundry, and tears being shed. The bean’s presence is optional. Yesterday was one such day. By the time we sat down for dinner last night there had been yelling, and in a state of despair I shouted at Sofia that she could either sit down or go to her room until she was 4. She calmly turned to me and said “Mommy, why are you mad?” I said “I am not mad, I am just really frustrated.” I then proceeded to list off all the ways that I was frustrated and she sat quietly, listening to what I had to say. I said “you know what would make me happy? If you listened when I asked you to do something, if you picked up your toys when I asked, and if you didn’t drown your pot stickers in bubble water and laugh while it pours out onto the floor.” She sat for a minute, nodding her head, and then exclaimed “Oh! I know!!!” her eyes getting bigger and bigger “You know what else would make you happy?” I let out a loud sigh, prepared for her to say something along the lines of Popsicles or Barney. “Oh yea, what would make me happy?” She smiled. “A great big hug from me. That would make you happy.” I leaned forward and let her wrap her little arms around my neck and as she squeezed with all her might I felt the stress of the day melt away and realized she was right. It did make me happy.
Maybe it was a good mommy day after all.
I have pictures up in my cube from Mother’s day 2008. I am so behind. Sofia has a baby book documenting her first year. She turned three in January. The only thing I can stay on top of is talking about how behind I am. At work? All deadlines are met, meetings scheduled and milestones completed. At home? Laundry goes unfolded, dust settles, and weeds grow. Why do we do this? Why do I do this? We have been talking about Sofia getting her hair cut since before we went to India. Finally Ajay took her on Monday. Evidently she stayed like this the whole time. I missed it because I kept putting it off. Time to reevaluate the priorities I think.
