I love my boys, I do, but there are days when I don’t particularly like them too much. That is terrible to say, even worse to write it out and admit to others. Parenting is hard and repetitive and most of the day is spent trying to bring a consistent patient response to irrational terrorists. Days like today when the crying and tantrums start even before I have made it out of bed are even harder. We have fights over breakfast, and brothers sitting too close together. They cry when Beautiful leaves for work and fight over anything and everything. I know the score, that this is going to be a challenging day but it is made even more challenging by the fact that I don’t really like the boys today. I am annoyed by the 4 year old and his fake laughing, and the whining shriek the 3 year old uses to communicate everything is like nails on a chalkboard.
This is not often the case, my feelings about them I mean, not their behavior. Days like this I try to dig deep, try to bring back those high school basketball practices when I felt like I would collapse but still went on. I try to distract and steer them into another direction. I try to have the empathy for a little boy who is still learning to figure out the powerful emotions inside of him. But none of it works and I need to just check out for a while. So I lay on the couch tuning out the chorus of cries and screams. I snap and send kids to timeout because I am tired of hearing them. I yell and intimidate instead teach and discipline. I vacillate between feelings of validation and shame and I know that this one day will not define them or me. I know that we will get through this because though I may not like them right now, I love them fiercely. I don’t get to pick the days I parent them and I’m not always going to be enamored with my kids. Being self aware enough to know I’m not at my best helps me work towards a more measured response.