Void of motion

Sometimes I want to stand still.  I want my body to be in a state of rest where my limbs hang heavily at my sides and even the strongest gust of wind cannot disturb me.  I want my mind to be void of motion, void of worry, void of anger.  For a moment I want to be a rock, heavy and too hard to throw across a field.  Birds would come and land on my shoulders and be comforted by my stillness.  And for moments to few to count – there would be peace within.

the wings that carried me….

I was watching the View which most times just annoys me because they all talk over each other and seem incapable of listening to anyone else’s opinion except their own but today Barbara Walters had the son of a friend of hers on named Quinne Bradlee.  His mother was a journalist and when she had Quinne doctors told her he was mentally retarded and he’d be instutionalized for the rest of his life.  Well, it’s nice to know they were wrong because Quinne just finished his book, “Living a life as a disabled person”.  It was amazing to listen to him and look at him.  Although there were slight differences in the way he talks he seemed normal, (if that is even possible in this world).  He has a normal life, is getting married to a ‘normal’ person and he defied the odds.  There was something he wrote in his book that made me cry, “My mother was the wings I didn’t have and she carried me everywhere I needed to go.”  It got me thinking about mothers, about my mother, and how that is really what we are, wings.  Our children come into this world these tiny little humans that don’t know how to do anything.  We teach them how to eat, how to smile, how to love.  We carry them to the places where they can be safe, where they can learn, where they can be happy and at some point in life we teach them how to expand their own wings while we stay in the background as they fly all on their own.  I sit here watching my two year old son who seems not to need me except when he needs my arms wrapped around him to lessen the pain of the boo boo on his knee where magic kisses make everything better.   I keep forgetting that as the seconds fly past me they are taking him closer to spreading those wings where magic kisses will only be memories.  It almost makes me want to hold him closer with the hopes that he can stay just like this, the little boy who loves his mommy and rides comfortably under her wings.  But I cannot stop time, I cannot hold it tightly hoping to stop it, it passes with or without me.  I suppose all I can do is really cherish the moments that are in front of me, to not be angry when he accidentally knocks my coffee over and says, “I sorry mommy” but laugh and know soon enough there will be no more moments like that one.

My mother was the wings I didn’t have and she carried me everywhere I needed to go….and then I learned to spread my own wings and fly away.

Control

I suppose that most of my life I’ve wanted to be in control.  In control of my choices, in control of my reactions, in control of everything that affects me.  One thing no one ever told me is that when you become a mother the very first thing you give up is control.  From the time they are born children determine what time you wake up, what time you go to sleep, when you will eat, when you will go to the bathroom, and what choices you will make in just about everything.  So here there I was, a person that was in control, and then my five year old daughter reminded me that it’s now become a fight for that prize and most days she seems to be winning.

I stood there listening to her scream at one in the morning and again at two and by the time three rolled around I had surrendered.  It’s just not that easy to fight for control when you are so deprived of sleep.  When she tried to force her way into my bed I did compromise and made her sleep on the floor.  Terrible mother right?  I gave her a blanket and a pillow so I’m not totally cruel.  I am really at my wit’s end because I have no idea what to do now.  The anger that swells inside of me over this tiny little camelion makes me feel like a failure.  She’s five, I’m well past that, why can’t I just make her listen?  So many different emotions run through your head when your last bit of patience has vanished.  I start to wonder if it’s me, did I mess up somewhere or take a wrong turn?  She’s always had rules and discipline because I’m not one of those mothers that let’s her do whatever she wants.  So why then doesn’t she get it?  Why can’t she remember that when she acts like this she’ll lose something….toys, play dates, birthday parties.  At what age do we learn what a consequence is and actually think about it before we act?  God I hope it’s before she turns into a teenager.

the hands of time

Sometimes I sit here after the last child has cried (which tends to be my five year old drama queen), and I wonder, “How do I keep my sanity?” Seriously, no one told me that being a mom also meant sacrificing parts of your mental stability. Don’t get me wrong I love my kids and I’d die without them, but there are moments in the day when I feel like disappearing inside myself where the cries for ‘mommy’ can’t be heard and more importantly can’t make me feel so damn inadequate. It’s amazing really, the sound of your child’s voice can comfort you on the darkest of days in the lonliest of moments and as the hands of time count off thirty seconds, that same voice can take every last bit of patience, restraint, and sanity that you have left.
Am I a horrible mom? I don’t think so. When my husband comes home from work and breathes his sigh of relief after a longggggg harddddd day, I want to smack him. How can he not know how hard this is, motherhood that is? It’s because no one calls out for him in the middle of the night when the monsters come out from under the bed. No one expects him to get their snacks, their dinners, their toys, the sun, the moon, and the stars all wrapped up pretty with a nice little bow. That’s just it…no one expects him to be anything more than what he is, a husband. I’m not trying to disc husbands, hell I have one and most days I’m fond of him, but the world has no expectations for fathers to be superheros. Why then does the world expect mothers to be no less than one?
The hands of time pass and I know that someday I’ll miss these moments. Moments of putting my kid back into bed ten times before she actually stays. Moments every morning of yelling, “Go Potty,” “Get Dressed,” “Eat your breakfast,” and knowing that after I’ve said them I’ll have to repeat each one at least five more times. Moments when sanity seemed so far out of reach that I started a blog just to have a place to write all this down to empty a tiny space in my head that I could claim as my own.
Someone told me once that motherhood was the single hardest job you’d ever do in your life. Thanks mom…..you hit that nail right on the head.