Love is Patient
I’m angry. Steaming. My nostrils are flared. My head is throbbing. I could just vomit at any second. For some reason my body turns on me when I get mentally or emotionally upset. Sometimes it’s to the point that I vomit. Nothing major has happened. It is the mere intensity of the simple scene that just played out in my life; the scene that has now advanced to a complete act. “My life as a mother” would be an appropriate title for today’s performance; with a stinging subtitle of, “A single mother.” So ladies and gentlemen I present to you, “My Life as a Mother, A Single Mother.”
My day started at 5 o’clock a.m. I got up early to get myself dressed, run a warm bubble bath for Her, and whip up some pancakes, bacon, and eggs with cheese. I don’t cook everyday but today is Friday. I do things more special on Fridays to celebrate making it through the weekdays. Her is a picky eater and refuses to swallow a morsel of school lunch. So in efforts to be a good mother I stuff her at the beginning of the day with hearty breakfasts and provide her with a filling after school snack at the end of the work day. Her day began at 6 a.m. She wakes up to a gentle tune sung by me. I get woken up by a violent cell phone alarm clock. I’ve never gotten used to it. When I hear the Draconian imitation organ, my first response is fear followed immediately by irritation. Her gets picked up and carried to the bathroom where she is placed on the toilet for potty time. Her even has the option to wipe her own privates or have her vagina wiped for her. Her is 3 years old and my ingenious daughter by the way. Because of Her I have earned the title of “good mother.” Scratch that, I’m a great mother.
For example, I tucked her into bed at her normally scheduled bed time last night. 8 o’clock on the dot, not a second less is my mandate. I make sure that she gets 10 hours of sleep each night. Kids need their sleep so that they thrive during the day. Knowing this information alone deems me a good mother. Applying actions that heed to this finding about the sleep and function of children makes me a great mother.
Now, I sit here staring at Her like a stranger I never seen before. In this moment I don’t feel like her mother at all. I feel like she is the enemy and Her is not Her at all. My nostrils are still flared in reaction to the chain of events that have just occurred. It’s not Her I am angry at. It is everything directly related to me feeling like a failure at motherhood. See that’s good. I am at the root of the problem. You have to know the difference between being angry at someone versus being upset about their actions. It is impossible to be mad at a child. They don’t know enough about anything in life to be held fully responsible for their actions. You can be mad at the actions or their inability to understand their actions- but not at them as little people. You can be disappointed. Disappointment is always safe. But it’s your job as a mother and a parent to do the character molding.
I’m sitting on the floor in her bedroom looking at her. Silence fills all of the space around us. She just rolled her eyes at me, threw her head back, squeezed them closed tightly and in a barely audible voice said, “I can’t breathe.” Then she exhales. You have got to be kidding me! I have molded Her into a drama queen apparently. This can’t be my life. Did the devil temporarily possess her earlier? Is he still lingering around now? She just told a lie laced in drama. Clearly she is breathing.
Oh yes that’s right I didn’t finish telling the story. After a long trek to work, putting in my eight hours, missing one bus and hopping onto another I think it’s safe to say I’ve had a long day. Now she’s pointing to a peanut butter traced spoon from 2 nights ago on a storage box in her bedroom. I saw the nasty spoon sitting there when I sat her on her bed and collapsed to the floor. I made a mental note at that moment to wash it before night’s end. She says, “Look momma, look at the spoon. I had peanut butter on it.” I already saw the stupid spoon. Doesn’t she know I’m already mad at her actions (not her remember)? Why is she doing more actions? My nostrils are never going to shrink back to normal size at this rate. They remain flared. I remain quiet. There’s nothing nice I can think of to say to Her so I choose to remain quiet.
The defensive part of me is wondering why this genius of a child didn’t just put the spoon in the sink 2 nights ago since she’s so observant and on top of things right now. Who is she to tell me about dirty dishes? I’m not a maid and she’s not paying me for my work. Whoa, I catch myself before my mind and feelings take me too far. Like I said, she doesn’t know enough to be held responsible for her actions…or smart comments.
Back to the story. So together we’ve had the longest day ever. We are riding on the city bus (which I hate but try to make it seem exciting for her benefit and cooperation). She spots a McDonalds restaurant and begins asking for chicken nuggets over and over and over again. I can’t really afford it right now with all the financial woes plaguing me so I say, “not today.” Five dollars saved on novelties is five dollars invested in necessities later. That’s the way I think about money management. She keeps asking. I keep responding. This is a sick game I think to myself. Is she ever going to give up I wonder. I quit and I choose to ignore her. I’ve packed her an after school snack (because I’m a good mother) so I know she isn’t starving or even hungry. An hour later we arrive at our stop. It’s the edge of a parking lot to a local shopping plaza…with a McDonalds in the corner. This visual stimulation sets her off into a begging tizzy again. “Can I have chicken nuggets, I want chicken nuggets and a drank” Not a drink, she says, “a drank.” That’s what I need right about now, a stiff drank, I think to myself. I think about the last five dollar bill in my purse. The one I was going to use to purchase a bag of jelly beans for Easter and the beginning of next week’s bus fare. Easter is only two days away. I already cried today because I don’t have an Easter basket for my only child. Don’t do that to yourself ever. Never ever cry about not living up to the hype and commercialization of a holiday. I think to myself, “What is more important to Her?” I decide to put a smile on the little one’s face. She has no concept of holidays and when they are. We can celebrate Easter in a week. I walk to McDonalds; she gallops ahead of me to the front counter. I think, “Does she have a secret stash of money in her coat pocket that I don’t know about?” Followed by, “I thought I told her to stop running off everywhere without me.” Followed by, “If she does have a secret stash I wonder if she wants to go half on the past due electricity bill.” I decide not to chastise her for the minor offense of running off because I know she’s excited. You have to choose your battles with children. It wouldn’t be worth the time and effort to talk to her about running off ahead of me, when all she has thought about and can still think about are chicken nuggets. Once I make it to where she is standing at the counter I begin feverishly making calculations in my head. Okay multiply each dollar by six for tax, move the decimal point, no no no, smile meal more than 3 dollars, since when? nope we aren’t getting that, okay all the drinks are on sale, cool, four dollars and some change if I get a double burger instead of the special burger. So I figure out how to get a big bang for my last buck; a $5 buck. I am so bitter. I’m bitter because I have a “good” job (one requiring higher education as a prerequisite) and money is still so scarce in our life. I order my sandwich off the dollar menu, pay for overpriced yet national contest winning French fries, and pay about 50 cent per chicken nugget for a 4piece box. Luckily the syrupy drink is one buck no matter what the size is. I hate myself for even walking into this place. I pay, she cries. Me, “What’s wrong?” Her, “I want the lil one.” Me, “Lil one what?” Her, “Da drink.” Oh no she did NOT! I just spent my last five dollar buck on this ridiculous meal for two and she’s fussing over a drink. She’s not fussing about not having one but about the size of the cup. Doesn’t she know there are children in other countries that don’t even have water to drink, or bathe in? Did that phrase just come into my head and out of my mouth? Oh Lord I have turned into my mother. Let the migraine begin.
I tell her she doesn’t have to drink it and that she may wait for a Sippy cup at home if she wants. I learned about giving children options and encouraging them to make choices instead of saying,”NO” in college. That’s another reason why I’m a great mother in my opinion. When I learn something I change my actions to become a better me and a greater mom. Her cry changes, “I want a Sippy cuuuuuup.” I put my index finger over her lips in “Shhhhh” fashion except I don’t say “Shhhhhh.” I widen my eyes (that’s the momma look that normally shuts down ill behavior) and I say, “You better eat your food.” She decides to drink syrupy liquid from the extra-large cup instead.
Now a new complaint has arisen. She looks at the nuggets and says, “It’s going to make me sick.” I’m thinking what in the world is “it”? Is she talking about the syrupy drink? I’m sick and tired of her; well at least her primadona attitude. I repeat, “You better eat.” She doesn’t eat. I place the extra-large cup out of her reach. I don’t want her filling up on liquids when she hasn’t eaten dinner food yet. I put her food in my purse and continue gnawing on my sandwich. She begins to cry real tears and for the next 10 minutes recites, “I want a drank” over and over. I can’t believe this wonderful Friday family dinner has gone downhill along with my last 5 bucks. I can’t believe I have a degree in English, I am certified in child development, and my daughter is pronouncing drink as “drank.” I’ve had enough for one day. I feel disappointed. I learned in anger management that you feel a different emotion before the feeling of anger each time you become angry. It’s true. I felt guilty about spending my last five bucks on a novelty. I felt frustrated that she didn’t approve of the way I budgeted out the meal. I felt irritated that she was ignoring my sacrifice and loving decision to come to the fast food joint in the first place. I still felt disappointed that we had missed the bus earlier and were walking home. This was not the life I planned for my child. When you feel angry you shouldn’t act. You should find out what the emotions were that you felt before anger. Because I don’t act out of emotion, I am a great mother. Instead of responding right away I exercise patience with discipline.
She cried the whole walk home. I ignored her. When we arrived there was an eviction notice on the door for past due balance. For a few seconds I feel like things would be better if I was dead. I conclude I don’t want to die and instead bend over the bathroom counter and cry. I sob letting the tears roll down my cheeks. And then I stop. Her cry is louder. Her cry completely engulfed mines and spit it out like chewing tobacco. I peak around the frame of my bedroom doorsill. I take in the scene. She has thrown herself on the bottom step of our stairwell, face down, refusing to walk up them. Damnit Her wins again. There just aint enough room for two drama queens in one home…
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Q. August
Motivate. Rejuvenate. Generate.
