today was a day kind of like this one. i woke up attempting perkiness. (we had a hard day yesterday too.) i got the kids into the car for story time at the library. i drove to the library. i got the kids out of the car. no mishaps really. until we attempted to leave the library. i said, “let’s go,” and then someone flipped henry’s hellion switch. everything went beserk.
hal started running through the library screaming. it’s a small and very echo-y library. i was toting violet in one arm and a bag of books in the other (fie on that julia child for making her recipe book so durn heavy)—i just couldn’t chase him. and he knew it. and he ran and ran and screamed and screamed while the mocha sipping college students looked at us with ember eyes. i eventually managed to drag him out of the library while still holding violet and the books. but i couldn’t get any further than the front door. he proceeded to tantrum outside the main gate for about a half an hour in a michigan february without a coat. i was trying to decide whether to run to the car and dump vi and the books and hope that henry would keep tantruming in the same location. or leave my wallet and books at the library entrance and drag both screaming kids to the car and then run back for the bag (hoping that no one would steal my copy of a short history of women and that dang-it heavy, curse-at-it cook book).
so, of course, i did what any embarrassed and mentally fried mother would do—i got out my cell phone and called my brother to see if he could drop everything he was doing, drive to the library, and manhandle henry into the car. in case you’re wondering, he didn’t answer. i finally got henry to follow me by telling him that violet’s hands had frozen. he said, “oh! let me see.” and i kept walking and told him he could see the frozen hands in the car. and he followed, sort of. before crumpling onto the sidewalk and continuing to scream.
once everyone was buckled in, i did the next logical thing. i put my head on the steering wheel and sobbed. and sobbed. and sobbed because so many people passed me as i held down the screaming, flailing, kicking me in the face toddler and the screaming baby and i felt utterly and completely without the imagination to get out of the situation. wit’s end. when your wits, for whatever reason, fail you.
i remember, back in college, thinking that finals week was hard. all that pressure and studying and stuff. sure, there were moments where i felt sort of inept and ready to do something else. but rarely did i find myself physically assaulted while being asked to come up with one of the most creative solutions of a lifetime. rarely did i have to take those tests outside in the snow without a hat holding a baby. (ok, never. i never had to take a test outside in the winter, or outside ever, for that matter.) rarely did i get so stumped on an essay that i just sat down and cried, failing to even attempt an answer. (i did cry at the AP calculus exam, but i’m not sure that counts.) rarely did the test include an actual impact on anyone’s life but mine, and even the impact on my own life was minor.
it makes you wonder then, doesn’t it, why these tests of mothering that put every skill, bit of wit, drop of imagination, ounce of will, mammoth strength, inner fortitude, and (in-short) demand that you—-in the face of public and weather and physical and emotional assault—-become wonderwoman, she-ra, and cheetara combined, get so little recognition.
i’ll tell you the truth, no one came up to me in the parking lot and said, “thank you, you hero, for saving the future generation from selfish meanness. thank you for dedicating yourself to raising two children who aren’t bullies, who have generosity and brilliance and humor. thank you for staying home day after day and enduring the monotony and torture and bursts of joy that come from turning your life over to someone else. thank you. god bless you. hallelujah. the world is not destined to become a disgusting cesspool because of you.”
yeah. no one said that. and even joe didn’t say something like, “wow. all of that and you still made indian lentil soup with yogurt. you rock.”
so. i’m going to say it for the world. (i think they want to, they just don’t know it.)
to all the mothers that stay at home: you rock. you inspire. you form the world. you are wonderwoman, cheetara, she-ra, and the mom from little house on the prairie swirled and combined. god bless you. and your families. god bless you.
Oh Jes, you are amazing. Balm to my soul. Thank you, thank you!
I am impressed you not only made the delicious-sounding soup but that you sat down to write this. It was therapeutic for me to read it, so I hope it was helpful for you to write about your morning and comparing it to another hard time in life. Huge pat on the back from me to you — for all that you do!! and a hug, if that helps
This is my favorite post on any blog, ever. I hope someday when I am not the one with the screaming children that I will be the one to say “you are a hero.” it needs to be said.
AMEN…
and, oh my, the she-ra picture killed me!
thank you. i needed that today- and everyday. it is true- it is hard work. worth it yes, but very hard.
I had to add something after I read the post you linked to…maybe it is coincidental that the dates are almost exactly a year apart. Maybe it’s just a February thing?
Oh my…yes, three year olds can be toughies and that February weather doesn’t help any. If I were there I would pat you on the back and call you a hero. Thanks for writing!
Well, you did a great job not only surviving the hardships of the day, but also cheering on others. See? You really are amazing. Plus I’m glad you wrote about it. Because one day you can show Henry and his wife when she has a day like this with your GRANDCHILD!
I had a day like this 2 days ago, which was following a hard day, too, and you expressed my feelings about it perfectly! I’m sorry we have to have those sucky days! I’m sorry no one appreciates you! I do! I think you’re amazing! Have I used enough exclamation points yet?!! Stay at home moms do have the hardest jobs of all. Here’s to hoping tomorrow’s better for you like yesterday was for me. God knows and He’ll somehow make it easier to carry your load, even if it isn’t taken away.
I’m not a stay at home Mom–anymore–but I WAS–(8 kids and now 24 grands) and I had many a day like THAT!!!!! I distinctly remember one morning, when I had 4 kids under 5 years old sitting on the stairs, and sobbing exactly like you described–I was certain I would never survive!! But I did and so did all the kids ( and not a leaker in the bunch!)
Your post DID remind me, as someone who has BEEN THERE: when I see a mom in a position like you described to walk over and say “how can I help?” I could’ve toted the books or the baby or SOMETHING!
bless you my dear!
Well said. This was perfect.
And yes, we do rock.
I laughed and laughed as I read this post. You are so great with words. Yes I totally agree that you are a super hero. And if I had tasted that soup I would of told you that you rock. Thanks for making another mother laugh and feel like she is not alone. One of these days we should get together since we are only living about 20 minutes from each other.
I think any mom, regardless of whether she’s a “stay at home” or otherwise, deserves a lot of credit for the things they do. And we shouldn’t feel bad about having a good sob over the steering wheel!
My son had a similar meltdown in the grocery store last year, where I was trapped between two people and all my groceries on the conveyor belt were waiting to be scanned and paid for. After struggling to get myself through that horribly, humiliating incident the person in front of me decided the best way to help me through that was telling me that my son would grow up one day and beat me up or become a Columbine school-shooting repeat.
Obviously that situation has never left my mind. But after getting over my absolute rage and disgust at her comments (believe me, it took probably weeks if not months before that happened) I could only wonder how horrible her life was for her to show no compassion.
So thanks for reminding me that other moms out there have struggles too and we gain super strength from that magical bond of motherhood.
oh my. thank you all for the fuzzy, fuzzy love.
it lifts your spirits, doesn’t it? to hear so many other stories. and to realize that the world is still filled with generosity and empathy and love and respect and just straight up good goodness. i think i already said it, but, god bless all of you.
wow. all of that and you still made indian lentil soup with yogurt. you rock.
You do rock. Hard. I will scream it from the mountain tops!