I’m feeling pretty low tonight. It was just a long day, and I know it’s one of many long, long days to come over the next few weeks known as summer “vacation.”
I hear a lot of mommies talk about how much they’re looking forward to having their kids home with them for summer. I admit I’m not one of them. I find it exhausting, and I’m not sure why it’s so much harder for me than those other super moms.
Maybe it’s because mine have been home with me, for the most part, for seven years now. Maybe it’s because I’m here alone while Mike is in Afghanistan. And it’s his second year-long tour in two years. Maybe it’s because the only form of freedom I get is dependent on my own mommy’s help, and being 40 years old myself, it’s hard to not feel grown up.
Maybe it’s because my children have such different interests and personalities. Ethan is all things golf. Abby can’t stand golf. Abby is all things animals. Ethan is terrified of animals. Abby wants to go next door and swim. Ethan is afraid of the pool. Abby wants to go places; Ethan wants to stay home – unless it’s to go play golf, and Abby hates to go play golf.
The one thing they do have in common is that they constantly want their mommy. I only wish I got paid a nickel for each time they called for me during the day. I’d be a rich woman.
To boot, I’m supposed to somehow find the energy and joy of maintaining my household, i.e., cleaning, and I’m constantly under the microscope for failing to do so. Tonight, rather than go outside and watch Ethan and Abby play in the yard, I chose to stay inside and clean up. In the meantime, Ethan whapped Abby in the noggin with a golf club. The both ran home screaming and crying. I never figured out what happened – if it was an accident or on purpose because I cannot trust what Ethan tells me. So I tried a “typical” discipline approach and took his golf clubs away.
Only Ethan is not typical. He is autistic. So he hit me and then darted across the street in rebellion as I had to run shoeless after him then carry him home.
Yet to many close to me, none of this matters. What’s important is that the laundry and dishes are washed and put away. This is what determines whether I’m a good mommy. And this is why I feel like a failure.
I feel so alone right now. No one to call on. No one to help me.
No one but the Lord.
Fortunately, His love is enough to sustain me. His mercies are new every morning (and "morning" technically starts in about 20 minutes).
So I praise God that tomorrow is another day.
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Very nice essay, Allison!
ReplyDeleteMarjorie
That is a beautiful piece. You're emotions bled through the screen. Who said you can't write in a funk? I loved it. At the same time, I wish I could take your little ones off your hands for a few hours. Tell me how I can help.
ReplyDelete-Ken
...and I can't believe I wrote "you're" instead of "your." ARGH!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteKen, I had a typo in my blog too (more than one probably). It happens. : )
ReplyDeleteAllison, you know this, but I will say it anyway... what makes a good mommy is happy kids, who are kissed and loved. No gravesotne ever said, "Wishes she had done more laundry." Buy enough underwear that you don't have to do laundry for 2 weeks... make that a plan during your long summer vacation!! Take care! Emily
ReplyDeleteLifting you up to our Father, my friend. Don't worry about the dirty dishes and the "not put away" laundry - I don't (most of the time anyway)! But I understand what you're saying; it's hard not to put yourself under the microscope when it seems that others are. I know that my love probably questions (in his mind, because he's smart!) what it is I do with my time all day. So do I sometimes, because I usually don't sit down until about 9 pm and I certainly don't have time to watch TV! Love you! xoxo
ReplyDeleteOh, and how I wish that we could get together and let the kids play while we chat over nice, cold Starbucks calorie-laden treats! Miss you!
ReplyDelete