I chose this

I chose to be a mom. Both boys were “planned”-no surprises. Of course, I didn’t choose to have two boys. But I have them, and I love them. Most days. Today wasn’t the best.

I work only two days a week, Mondays and Tuesdays, with the occasional half-day and/or weekend thrown in. I worked today, which means when I get home, I’m tired, but I’m really looking forward to spending some time with the boys. They are often, if not always, very “energetic” when I pick them up from my parents’ house. It takes a while to get them rounded up and in the car to head home. Today was no different.

On the way home, we talked about their day at school, each boy having the opportunity to tell me what their art project was, what they did outside or in the large motor room, any books they read, and other parts of their day. When we got home today, Andy was outside doing some yard work, so the boys stayed outside with him while I got dinner started. You’d think that would help them expend some of their limitless energy. Not so much.

We sat down to dinner, which was mighty tasty, I’d like to admit. I made ribs (pre-cooked and sauced up, so it wasn’t too labor-intensive) and steamed some broccoli. Noah, the good eater he is, immediately started to chow down on his dinner. Caden, the picky eater he is, took one look at his plate and stated, “I don’t like this!” Thus started our usual dinner routine.

We argue with Caden that he can’t decide he doesn’t like something if he has never tried it before. We argue with Caden that he has to have at least one bite of his vegetable before he leaves the table. (Oh yeah, that “statistic” that says a child has to try something 12-15 times before he’ll eat it, total crap. We are well into the triple digits on trials of carrots, green beans, broccoli with no success.) We argue with Caden that he has to drink his milk. Most evenings Caden gets at least one time-out during dinner. (I’m thinking they’re not too effective.) It’s usually because he’s screaming, spitting food out, or playing with his fork. Sometimes it’s all of the above.

Tonight I told the boys that dinner is my least favorite time of the day. I’m tired of harrassing the boys to eat. I’m tired of the negative comments about the food I prepare. I’m tired of having to remind them to use their manners. I’m tired of telling Noah to sit back down. I’m tired of trying to come up with well-balanced meals day in and day out. (How did my mother do it all those years, and how does she continue to do it?) Today, I think I was just plain tired.

After dinner, I started the dishes, then was relieved by my wonderful husband so I could go spend time with the boys. I walked into the living room, plugged in our orange lights (my weak attempt to add some more Halloween decoration to my house-my least favorite holiday!), and got ready to find a game or something to do with the boys. As soon as I turned on the lights, Noah started to turn out all of the lights in the living room and any other lights that were nearby. The boys then began to run around screaming. I can tolerate running, but running in the dark, and screaming is a bit too much. I went back over to the orange lights and unplugged them. Noah started to freak out, as he is wont to do, and that was the last of my patience. (I’m the first to admit that my amount of patience is lacking-I’m working on it!) I started to head upstairs, with Noah still screaming “We’ll be good! We’ll be good!” Um, yeah, I don’t listen to screaming children very well. I told Noah that I was giving myself a time-out, that I needed this time-out. So I headed upstairs to my bathroom, locked the door, and read my book.

When I came out about 5-10 minutes later, Noah was in his room putting his pj’s on. He then told me that “Daddy wrote on the calendar to remind me that I was naughty tonight and I had to go to bed early.” (The calendar says “Bed early.”) I then had the boys sit down so I could tell them what I want for my birthday this year. I said I want a day with my boys where they are as nice as I know they can be. A day with no hitting, no tackling, no nasty words, no screaming (by me or the boys). A day where I don’t have to be the bad guy. A day where I can just enjoy my family, be the mom I’ve always wanted to be, with no arguments about what we’re eating, what we’re watching, where we’re going. A day where my kids behave. Is that too much to ask?