Better Day Today

Yesterday was easily one of the worst parenting days I have had so far.  All day long, the kids pushed my buttons, refused to listen, and ignored everything I asked them to do.  Requests by me to pick up ... denied.  To take off and put away one's shoes ... ignored.  To calm down for bed time, put on pajamas, stop pushing your sister/brother ... refused.

I was feeling so out of control and frustrated by their lack of respect, but I didn't know what in the world I could do about it, particularly in the moment.  Which is probably why, in the 8 o'clock hour of night, I snapped.  I screamed at the kids; not yelled, screamed.  I could feel my blood pressure rising and I screamed at them to listen to me.  Of course, they didn't.  And I only ended up making myself upset in the process.  I took a time out in the hallway and cried.  The next half hour or so was a complete cluster*#%^ ... I don't feel like going into the details right here or now, but rest assured, there were many tears, mostly from me (and a decent amount from Mollie).  Baylor, the main instigator of the chaos, was the eye of the storm; calm and collected, almost jovial about his rebellion, with a slight hint of whimsy thrown in to test every ounce of patience in me.  He could see I was upset, but instead of doing what I asked (which I told him would make me happy/keep him from losing more of his pre-bed books) he either ran off to do what he pleased or came over and sweetly told me he loved me, which has - as of late - been his go-to solution for any and all conflicts with adults.

By the time Bryson got home, I had calmed down a lot and was reading our one-and-only pre-bed book to a couple of relatively calm kids.  Baylor had pooped on the potty (first time in what feels like a long time, I'm sad to say) and was finally in his overnight diaper and pajamas.  Mollie was calm as well and enjoying a little Olivia with us.  Even after the screaming incident, though, Baylor still looked up at me as we were reading and said quietly, "I love you to the moon and back."  My eyes welled with tears as I said it back to him, meaning every last word.

After we finally got them in bed, I went downstairs and vented all of it to Bryson.  Every last little mortifying, heartbreaking, stressful detail was rehashed and let free.  I cried ... again.  And I realize I need to do better not only for the kids but for myself.

I'm burnt out.  I haven't gotten away to take a breather; my only real solo outings have been to go to appointments, and those aren't really stress relievers. I have been burning the candle at both ends, which is never good but even less so when you're trying to recover from a cold.  Exercise, save for chasing and lifting the children, has been nonexistent.  On top of all that, the house is a mess, disorderly and crumb-covered, and staying on top of the everyday cleaning has kept me from delving into the real, larger problems around here; we have too much stuff, and it's time for some (or a lot) of it to go, but getting there has been an uphill battle.

But regardless of how burnt out I may be, I'm still here.  I'm still doing my best, the best I can at any given moment, to make life for these kids, these amazing kids, the best it can be.  I went up to bed last night (way too late) and as I tread quietly up the stairs I thought to myself, "Tomorrow will be a better day."

So here's to a better day today.  I've read this about being a mom to a boy, I've typed this blog to share, and now it's on to make things better, brighter, and less-stressed.

Best wishes to you all for a better day!