Our Kids Need to Learn How to be Human

Yesterday was rough.

ROUGH.

I don’t want to make excuses, but we stayed up waaaaay too late and I was up three times overnight so the morning’s 7AM alarm (and by alarm I mean kids standing next to my bed) seemed soooo early. Plus, it’s my…ummmmm…”sensitive” time of the month.

Let’s just say my patience was thin, and there was the teeniest bit of rage bubbling below the surface EVERY SINGLE MINUTE.

After the millionth sibling squabble, as I struggled to carry in groceries from the car without letting the dog out of the house while my daughter hollered for me to come wipe her bottom in the bathroom, my teenager opened a fresh sassy mouth to me and I completely LOST IT!

A yelling, crazy-eyed, finger pointing, profanity-enhanced LOST IT!

And immediately the tone of the house changed.

I hate that.

I hate when my kids grow silent and give one another the side eye and gently tiptoe around Mom because she’s acting like a lunatic.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get it.

Will I ever be the patient, loving mom I strive to be? Will I ever be able to control my temper? Will I ever be able to keep it all together?

Every morning I pray to be loving and kind and gentle and patient and exactly the mother my children need me to be…and every day without fail, I fall short.

After my little tirade I gave myself a Time Out upstairs for about twenty minutes.

I prayed. I walked immediately back downstairs and apologized. I hugged my teen. I put away the groceries, fed my little people lunch, and turned up some music in the kitchen. LOUD. I danced and sang. My teenager’s freckled face spread into his wide dimpled smile as he pretended to roll his eyes at my dancing.

I was forgiven. Again.

I wanted to feel guilty for my ridiculous behavior, but now really I’m just thinking…maybe my kids need that, too. Maybe they need to be taught how to be HUMAN. Maybe they need to see how we mess up over and over and over. Maybe they need to see how we apologize. Forgive one another. And move on to dance in the kitchen. Maybe they need to know deep in their bones that no matter what, there is LOVE.

And maybe…just maybe…my ridiculously imperfect self is EXACTLY the mother my children need me to be.

Crazy eyes and all!

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