Trials

In an effort to record a true and accurate account of Austin and Logan's childhood, it would be extremely negligent of me to leave out some of the more "taxing" moments.

I do believe I am a very patient mother.  I do believe I am a very calm mother. 

If you saw us out and about on any given day - me, with (2) wild and crazy boys, dressed in insane mis-matched clothing, running circles around me while simultaneously hurling questions at me with the speed,  accuracy and interrogation-like style of an award winning investigative reporter, I am sure you would think I was on medication in order to survive.  

I usually walk a straight path, two eyes focused on our destination, and 4 sets of newly acquired eyes seeking and scouring the area for incoming danger.  With a serene smile on my face, I deflect the constant onslaught of questions with karate like quickness and efficiency while somehow managing to get in several commands - issued with marine-like authority, "Hold hands, watch that car, NO running, stop wrestling, put that back.  NO touching!"

I have perfected my "One -eye-brow-raised yes -they-ARE-indeed-a-HAND ful- and THEN-some" look paired with my "I couldn't- be -happier with-them, you have no idea just how much I am blessed" smile to the ever present wide-eyed looks I get from fellow errand runners. 

All is well.   

Until.  Until I reach my maximum amount of testing and the not responding to Mommy's authoritative marine voice.  And then, I go from zero to 160 in a nano-second. 

I'm not talking about the knocking over a full-sized mannequin that put an abrupt halt to our shopping for a outfit for mommy trip.  I remained calm on that one.  I simply stated that we were "Done."  I left the store.  Left the mall and headed backout to our van.  Them?  They lost they freakin' marbles.  No play area time?  No food court lunch?  OH - the injustice!!!    Sorry boys, Mommy rules.  No knocking over mannequins - immediate loss of all privileges. 

No, I'm talking about moments like when I offered to go along with my mom to help her pick out a new computer.  I might have well just said, "Mom, we'll go in together and then you just go ahead and talk to the sales man all by yourself while I will begin to chase and coral my Olympic speed running, obstacle course, gymnastic performing children. ooooo-kay?"

It wasn't just that they weren't listening.  It was as if they couldn't even hear me.  My threats, my punishments, my timeouts didn't phase them in the least.  Although I did witness another woman quickly tuck her wide-eyed freckle-fresh cutie under her protective wing when I unleashed the sonic boom.

My two considered that same sonic boom.  A challenge. 

They started playing. Hide and Seek. from me.   Thus - completing my Mommy-Dearest transformation. 

The WORST moment was when I reached out to catch a blur as Logan darted out from behind a shelf of expensive cameras and then performed some NFL worthy "fake and roll" out of my reach.  And then.  LAUGHED.  loudly.  "Ha, ha you can't catch me!" 

Even in my deranged wire coat hanger state, I knew his little butt was safer away from me than within my grasp.

I would have gladly pulled the ole "I'm leaving" resolution, but one, I truly had no idea where in the store my children were.  And two, I was still hopeful that once I could laser beam the fear of Mommy into my children, I still believed, that even with no shred of respect left, I was still in control of the situation and therefore might actually be able to help my mother.  In fact, I think I did say something like "Go with the blue one."      ;-)

She eventually completed her purchase.  Someone found and brought my children to me.  And they proceeded to bounce their way back to the car chanting what a COOL store that was. 

I went home and updated my Facebook status with something about "Days like these....will be drinking wine (lots of)."

I hate, hate, hate these moments because I do loose control. I hate the mean, nasty things that come out of my mouth - the no nonsense goob-a-ly-gook words that make no sense, but may, I'm sure, hurt some feelings.   I hate that when all the weapons in my parenting arsenal fail me and that I am complete mess.  Unable to "fix" or handle the situation. 

It seems like I stay mad forever.  The whole way home - when I finally have them LOCKED down and they can't run from me - I go over and over and over again ALL the things they did wrong and ALL the privileges that I am taking away.  I hate that I can't talk myself off the edge - try as I might to want to shut up.  Knowing that they are only kids and are only capable of taking in but so much feedback? 

I wish I could just say my peace.  And let it be, John Lennon style. 

Instead of Pyscho style.  But something in me has snapped and it feels "helpful" to blah, blah, blah, blah and yak away at them. 

sigh

Thankfully, these moments don't come often.   And they don't typically last "that" long.  I eventually (drink wine and) calm down again.  Where I can look at them and look past the offending behavior.  And see their lovable little hearts again. 

BELIEVE ME, I'm not saying that I think Mommying should be Mommy-Dearest Moments free.  I think that's impossible to do (without medication).  I'm just saying, I hate it when it happens. 

And it does happen.  And it will happen again.

And I wanted to document it so that when Austin and Logan read back through this blog, they're not left wondering, "Hey, where's that crazy lady that raised us?  The one that told us we were never going to be able to have friends over, or watch another movie, or ever eat strawberries again?"