It is Saturday morning at 10. Every Saturday morning I drop my kids off with our beloved Grandma Sosa. Grandma Sosa might have been a saint in her previous life, I’m not sure. I’ve been dropping them off there for about 3 years. It is my time, for a precious 4 hours, to do stuff that is easier to do without the kids around. Clean my house, go grocery shopping, catch up on work, lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling fan. While I’ve never asked her to, I learned from Caleb that Grandma Sosa makes them huge pancake breakfasts on Saturday mornings, complete with tall glasses of chocolate milk. This has made me lazy. Most Saturday mornings I don’t even feed them anymore.
This morning as we jumped in the car I said to the kids, “Hey, I forgot to feed you guys anything.” Caleb replied, “That’s ok Momma, Grandma Sosa always has food for us.” Callie piped up, “Momma, Grandma Sosa has brushes at her house.” I asked, “For your hair?” Callie: “Yes, she brushes my hair every week.”
Well, thank goodness, that is more often than I do, I think, cringing inside.
“Grandma Sosa must think I’m a pretty bad Momma.”
Yeah. Yesterday at work, I had a fabulous day. Part of my job includes training people who work in the criminal justice system. After my training, which was a class on coaching, people actually applauded. That was a first, but normally my trainings do go pretty well. I came home pleased and exhausted. Then I yelled at the kids at bedtime because they were jumping on my bed. They wouldn’t stay in bed, wouldn’t be quiet. I dragged Callie back to her bed 3 times while she protested, scratching and pinching and yelling at me. Caleb kept asking me, “Momma, are you going to give us away? Are you?” To which I responded by half screaming at him, “OF COURSE NOT! ARE YOU CRAZY? MOMMA LOVES YOU! I WOULD NEVER GIVE YOU AWAY!” Brilliant. Gotta love that warm, heartfelt response.
No doubt if my class would have followed me home last night, instead of applauding, they might have been poised with their cell phones, ready to dial 911 to report a domestic disturbance. By the time I lay down in my bed, my head was pounding, my blood pressure was probably at dangerous levels and I felt horrible about myself. I can’t even fathom any other mother I know acting like this. Not a single one. Maybe some of the clients I’ve seen or met with. The ones who are also living in poverty, being beat up by their boyfriends, taking drugs and working in minimum wage jobs. The ones who have not a good, but definitely plausible, reason for snapping one day.
So now I’m regrouping, and getting ready to go out and purchase hundreds of dollars in school supplies. I’m writing this blog, which I’ve realized is kind of an accountability tool for me. I will pick up the kids in a few hours, and I will hope to have gained back a sliver of my slowly deterioriating mind to face whatever comes, calmly and cheerfully, the rest of the weekend. Hurray!