I am praying today is erased from my children's memories. Eli was up at 4am and continued in his stage of sneaking into our bed. Only this morning he didn't feel like sleeping. I have always been someone who needs sleep. If I don't get it...watch out. I lose all patience and I can't seem to function. Eli was still awake at 6am. He had decided to back into his own bedroom but decided it was playtime. I had been in there twice before. Finally I burst out of bed and stomped into their room. I whispered loudly for him to get back into bed and it was bed time. He started crying out, "No, No, NO!!" Maddie started to stir and I was about to lose it. I could never make it through a day if they both decided to wake up now!! I put my hand over his mouth and told him to "Shut up". All the sudden, like a thunder clap, I saw an outline of my mother's face. My outburst caused him no physical harm...I actually don't spank Eli. Evan does that in the rare occurrences that he needs it. I never raise a hand to my children...but in my exhaustion I lost control of my self control. I stood there in the middle of their room...both of my children crying, each for different reasons. I knelt by my son and held back my own tears and I told my son Mommy was sorry and he needed to go to sleep. I found Madeline's pacie and handed it to her. Thankfully she laid down to fall back asleep. It feels like I have fallen off the wagon. I have instances where I raise my voice or just have outbursts of frustration. I usually remove myself...even lock myself in my room until I can calm down. I know how I get when I am tired like that...why did I go into his room? I should know better. I hate what I did. I hate those glimpses of what I am capable of...I hate it!! That is why I choose not to spank our kids. I give the timeouts and I count to 3...but I don't put my hands on my children out of anger or frustration. A mother's hands are meant for love and nurturing. I feel like today my hands are messengers of anger and fear. I know everyone fails as parents...do they fail this badly?
I had a chance yesterday to decompress and debrief from my PA trip with a very special lady. I know she reads these so I won't mention her name so not to cast light where it might not be wanted...but she knows who she is. I have wondered if I will ever get the chance to repay her for her dedication to women like me. I wonder if I will ever be as giving as she. As much as I have lost...a mother who loves me, a mother who looks fondly at me so proud of what I have become, a mother who holds a shot of me with a big pregnant belly in her mind and sighs with a smile...I have found these things in this woman. So confident am I in our bond that I know she remembers me when I am not there...as a good mother would. She made some time for me yesterday afternoon. How relieving it is to be with someone who speaks "abuse". I can begin a conversation and not have to explain my background or why I am the way I am. We begin on that foundation and talk for hours. She remembers me 10 years ago... It must have been easier to relate to a brick wall than it was to get through to me. She pursued me and told me yesterday that it was because she could see I was making choices to try to make my life better than it was. I will have to take her word for that!! I sat in her living room for 2 months and cried like I had never cried before but I never spoke a single word. I once became suspicious that she hid some kind of chemical in the threshold of her door that sank into my tear ducts and made me release these tears involuntarily...no woman could possibly cry as much as I did. I still think she has a graveyard behind her house for all the masks and outer shells that all the women that have gone through her living room have left behind. I still think back to the person I was and I feel like I must have blocked out the moment I removed my "wounded Ashley" suit and left it on her living room floor. Keep it and bury it deep!
We of course talked about my children! I still am feisty when I remember my mother calling my children brats...or they must be brats because they are mine. It just gets under my skin. I talked it over with Evan and I realized my mother never understood children. She never understood me as a little girl, a teenager, or a woman. Our world was faced in her direction. Everything we did, everything we said, everything we planned had to have its strings tied to my mother...she pulled those strings that ran everything. My mother could never ask for help...her own issues of course. Even having a child...she did it on her own (hence the "no drugs" fiasco I have mentioned before). I don't know if she read any parenting books or did any research...I did but I am just that kind of person. I don't like to be caught off guard! All I can say is that she never let the love a mother feels...she never let it in, she never let it take her over. The love of a man is powerful in it's own way and beautiful just the same. The love we feel when those wrinkly bodies first emerge...or in my case, when that cry first pierces the delivery room...everything else is drowned out by the voice of your child. That is love at first sight...I can say that I loved my children before I ever saw their faces. That kind of love is powerful and so so so physical that you can feel it. It is very rare you will see a woman who has just given birth have dry eyes. Love like between a mother and her child is so physical and she can't help but express what she is feeling the way women do best...with tears. I wonder if my mother never let that love in. Did she feel that burst in her body when she knew life would never be the same...did she ever feel like life began when I came into the world. Probably not. What a shame...I have always felt a little more blessed to be the mother. I get to grow the babies and give my body to them for 9 months. I get to nurture them from the moment their souls are woven together. What an amazing, priceless treasure we have as mothers. My mother missed it...she missed out on the most inexpensive gift in such a huge package. My brother was born a whole 3 years after me. In that 3 years she never took the chance to know me. When my brother came I must have been jealous. She'd leave the room and all the sudden he would start crying. Who knows what I must have done to him. What she missed was the natural occurrence there. All children feel misplaced when a new baby comes into the house. Instead of helping me through the transition she chastised me. She saw my jealousy as a personality trait for the rest of my life. Every time I took the larger portion or picked on my brother I received a reminder that I have always been a nasty girl. I used to con other kids into giving me things...well, I only remember this happening once but if you go by my mother...I hope you don't...I have always been able to manipulate and con the pants off anyone. Ahhh, and there it is...the planting of my view of my character any time I get something that I want at the supposed expense of another. My how our mother's words travel with us till we DIE!!! I wonder what I would have become if my mother didn't always see the "dirty" side of me? What if she had nurtured my jealousy...would I have learned to cope through life's ups and down, would I be more secure in relationships...her way of dealing with me was obviously a pattern. What if she had nurtured my supposed conning of other people? Would there have been a saleswoman in me...we may never know. I can see parts of my children's person coming through. Eli is a thoughtful little boy. He often comes up to me during his playing just to give me a kiss or to get a kiss. The other day I asked him to share a handful of his cheerios with Maddie. He did and she ate them gratefully. A few minutes later I watched as he got another handful and placed the cheerios in the same place for Maddie to eat...without being asked. What a precious moment for a mother to witness. I told him what a sweet brother he was...I think he likes hearing that. Of course 10 minutes later I saw him smack Maddie when she touched the toy he was playing with. Why should his hitting her overshadow what he had done 10 minutes before out of the goodness inside of him? The truth is, all kids get jealous, all kids hit, all kids are bad some of the time. I honestly think my mother found a new way to be the victim when she could tell other people that I was a "brat"...if I did something wrong and everyone one was there to see it she could claim that I had always been that way. I can see a lot of myself in my Maddie. She has a temper and will push her brother away if he is on my lap when she is there or wants to be there. We simply compromise. I have two legs! Eli eventually gets bored and gets off my lap...but my Maddie likes to cuddle. As independent as she is (presently I am having to find new things to feed her because she refuses to be fed, she wants to do it herself!) she still needs mommy and only mommy after about 7pm. She'll lay her head on my shoulder and I can't help but think...this is my daughter. This is the little girl who will get her heart broken, get married, have babies and (hopefully) miss me when I am gone...how am I ever going to get her there as the women she was meant to be? How am I ever going to be the mother she needs for the rest of her life? How can I ever be the mother she'll need to sustain her after I die until we see each other in Heaven? How can I, being the person that I am, ever be that important to these two people? I guess for now, I am the shoulder that calms her before she goes to sleep and when she falls down. Will it always be that easy? Probably not. I just hope today doesn't count!!
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