One of Those Days

One of the kids' most-loved books in our home library is called, "One Of Those Days." Each page represents a different kind of "bad day" using simple descriptive phrases and illustrations. Lukas and Jasper's favorite is the "Big Day Kinda Disappointing Day," that depicts a dissatisfied-looking boy standing under a "Happy Birthday" banner, holding a pair of underwear.

If yesterday morning had been a page in my book of "Those Days," it would have read: "Running Late, Three Crying Kids Refusing Snowsuits, Just Got My Period, Two Months Overdue For A Hair Cut Day." And the picture would have shown a very disgruntled mom, trying to stuff a kicking six-year-old into a snowsuit beside 2 weeping puddles of children, with a mullet of hair sticking out in all directions, screaming at the top of her lungs. I could have added, "First Day Without Caffeine," to the run-on sentence since I'm trying to quit drinking coffee, and yesterday was supposed to be my first day going without, but I re-nagged on that plan since I just couldn't imagine making the morning any harder than it already was.

While of course I'd like to be able to handle each and every tough morning with mindfulness and grace, in reality I'm lucky if I can manage to do so 75% of the time. Sometimes it's like an itch that just needs to be scratched. I can't not freak out at my kids every now and then. And although I'm certainly not proud of myself when that happens, I'm not especially hard on myself either. That said, I do make myself take responsibility for my actions, each and every time, and remind myself that I always have a choice in how to react. And we're all better off if I make good choices, if I practice my zen and the art of mothering, if I am my most playful parent self, than if I am lazy and give in to the itch and simply scream.

The other day I happened upon Zeben having just dumped out his bowl of yogurt on the table. Presto change-o: what was once an afternoon snack is now sensory exploration! I took a deep breath while I assessed the situation. The yogurt was wasted. A mess was being made. Zeben was exceptionally pleased. Luckily for both him and me, it was "Calm and Creative Mom" as opposed to "Grumpy and Exasperated Mom" who arrived at the scene. Really there was no one to blame other than myself; I had left Zeben alone with a bowl of yogurt, knowing very well that the chance of him actually eating it was slim in comparison to the chance of him deciding to play with it. Usually we try to supervise his consumption of potentially diasterous foods (like yogurt, applesauce and cereal), but on this particular occassion I had been attempting to do the dishes in the next room. I resigned myself to cleaning up the mess later and decided to try and enjoy the spilt yogurt as much as Zeben was, by photographing him playing with it.







While eventually cleaning the yogurt up, I acknowledged the choice I had made, to not overreact, to go with the flow, to keep things calm and peaceful. It's important for me to remind myself of the kind of parent I want to be. Of how much more fun this whole mothering thing is when I don't let the little things get to me. Just like I make myself fess up to my less brilliant moments and reflect on how I could have done things differently, it's helpful to realize the instances that are more in alignment with my vision of what I want our life to be.

When we finally did make it into the car yesterday morning, tear-streaked cheeks and all, I apologized to the kids. I told them that I was sorry for having lost my cool, that sometimes even moms make poor choices, that I should have spoken calmly instead of yelling. That I was disappointed in my behavior and that I understood if they were disappointed too. I dropped them all off at school and took myself out for coffee before going to get my hair cut, and by noon, when it was time to collect the children, I was feeling much improved. That is, until Lukas came running at me with his fists raised and his jaw clenched. Clearly he was still feeling angry about our morning struggles, and Jaz was not much happier to see me. The afternoon turned out to be only a vaguely less-awful version of our before-school escapades.

Thankfully, the book, "One Of Those Days," ends optimistically:

"Luckily, every single one of those days eventually turns into night. And every single night turns into a brand-new day."

And our day did too. Last night I gave the boys dream magic, pulled up their covers, kissed their foreheads, and promised them simply, "tomorrow will be better."