It’s been a rough week. How about yours?
At our house, we have a 2-year-old whose only communication is whining or screaming. I’m not sure where my adorable, sweet-tempered child went, but her replacement is certainly unwelcome. Too bad she doesn’t pick up on social cues yet, and realize it’s time to go.
At our house, we have a 5-year-old who is behaving remarkably well, but her only communication is questions. Endless questions that have no answers. “Why did you look at the wall just now, Mom?” “Why is Emma using both hands to hold the cup?” “What did you just say? No, really. What did you say? I know you were just talking to yourself, but what did you say to yourself?” It’s an interrogation of epic proportions all day long. Soon, I fear she’ll try water-boarding.
When my husband came home last night, I had the 2-year-old in my lap quietly hiccuping back tears while the 5-year-old screamed her feelings at the top of the stairs. He immediately took my side, and went to work dissolving the 123rd such scene of the day. I check out at 122.
Soon after, I left the tornadoes of tantrums to go to a meeting, and as I walked out the door, my husband said to the 5-year-old. “Quick! Give Mom a hug.”
A hug was the last thing I wanted last night. Touch is definitely not my love language. I think fleeing may be my language because the only way I felt I could feel love for those little hellions of mine was to flee. And fast.
I shook my head no at that sweet man of mine, but my daughter had already put the past hurt aside, and there she was: flinging her little body at mine. I patted her back, and walked out the door.
Today, I dissolved tantrum #83 by sitting on the floor with the beautiful monsters and singing rhyming/action songs. When we stood to run to our next commitment, my 5-year-old said, “Mom, you’re the best mommy I’ve ever had.”
She’s right, of course, but only because she’s never had another mommy. Still, I asked her why. “Because you do such fun things with us,” she said.
Is that all it takes? A song here, a hug there — and voila! I’m the best mommy. I don’t quite understand the rules of what makes me a good mommy — I think they fluctuate from day to day — but after yesterday’s events, I’ll take the title… even if it will be relinquished by dinnertime.
I’d even take the title of “hasn’t completely lost it today, so she’s doing alright as a mom.”