"I love you, have a good day at school," I said to my moody daughter as she hurried past me in the front hall.
"I love you," I said again, hoping she just hadn't heard me the first time.
"I love you," I said again, hoping she just hadn't heard me the first time.
She didn't even look at me. Technically speaking, her parting "humph!" as she walked through the front door elevated this above the silent treatment. Still, I wanted to cry. I'd gone through the wringer with that child this morning, the source of all that was wrong in her world. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier? Mo-om! I can't find any clothes! You NEVER do laundry! I don't want to wear that! I don't have time for breakfast now! I don't want a home lunch! Mo-om!" All this after my delivering another surly child in his carpool and dealing with the toddler's screams that I wouldn't let him have any more lunchbox snacks.
I felt like a doormat.
I got Jeff's voicemail when I called his office to vent, or at least to circumvent. I was going to say "I can't do this anymore!" -- about 12 hours earlier than other such utterances to him, usually at the end of a bad day when fatigue clouds my vision. I saw the absurdity of proclaiming such a thing to an answering machine, however, hung up and took stock of the situation. Oh, I am ridiculous.
I've ruminated on this before, a mother's role as her children learn and grow. Like the doormat expression in the English language, I often do feel like my children walk right over me with disrespect, that their lack of appreciation flattens me.
I felt like a doormat.
I got Jeff's voicemail when I called his office to vent, or at least to circumvent. I was going to say "I can't do this anymore!" -- about 12 hours earlier than other such utterances to him, usually at the end of a bad day when fatigue clouds my vision. I saw the absurdity of proclaiming such a thing to an answering machine, however, hung up and took stock of the situation. Oh, I am ridiculous.
I've ruminated on this before, a mother's role as her children learn and grow. Like the doormat expression in the English language, I often do feel like my children walk right over me with disrespect, that their lack of appreciation flattens me.
But who else will teach them courtesy? Who will be there to help them wipe off the dirt of the world and enter a safe place? Who will be the launching pad for new adventures, the familiar thing they touch upon coming home?
I've decided that if I can help my children be better in all their comings and goings, that if I can help them get a little bit closer to their wonderful potential every time they brush past me, then that is a very good role indeed.
No matter the wear and tear.
5 comments:
Amen. I could totally relate with your post. I think I've told my kids for the 1,002nd time that I AM NOT THEIR MAID. :) The daily tasks and efforts of motherhood can be exhausting to say the least. On those hard days, I do as you said and hold on to the hope that the daily mundane tasks will be the source of successful children. Bit by bit right?
Thanks for putting the mundane into poetic terms. It's those little things that add up to successful adults.
My daughter just this morning told me I never wash her clothes and she always puts them in the hamper. She's wearing a pair of jeans from her bedroom floor today.
I love your analogy! Every little time you feel that wear and tear it's another small investment in the successful adults you're raising. They are great kids because of you! You must be one of those sturdy, expensive doormats that I wish I could afford! :)
I'm always amazed at how you turn your frustrating moments with your kids into positive learning experiences. Me? I just get bummed in the moment and let it get me down. Thanks for your inspiration for me to keep a broader perspective!
What a beautiful comparison! It brought tears to my eyes. I feel like I slave away all day and they just can't wait for Daddy to come home because he is SO fun. Once again, you've expressed my feelings so nicely. thanks!
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