Over, Under, Over -- Moms are for Cuddling, NOT slaving

I am over worked, underappreciated, and way over tired. That is the summary of the problem. But it is not what this story is about. This story is about how I nearly cracked today when I realized just how little gratitude my kids have these days.

 

We were driving home from an awesome play date in the land of milk and honey -- AKA for little girls as a farm with horses and 1 week old baby kittens -- not to mention pizza and juice boxes. At the play date it became ever clear to me that one of my children's eczema is more likely ringworm. I stopped at a Right Aid with no cars in the parking lot and ran in to get the cream she needs. As we were pulling out of the lot, I heard a series of calm words come from the back on the car. I tuned in and heard in no particular order, these words and phrases, "Hate. Spell. Writing on the car. Crayon. She said you said it was ok. She doesn't know how to spell Hate. She scratched in out and wrote poo."

"Wait! Are you writing on the car?"

 

"You said we could."

 

I could basically end the story there. What the hell?

 

"Stop, What? Answer me. Are you writing, "I hate you on my car?"

 

I started to yell and then just stopped. I drove on and then said calmly (as calmly as possible), "When we get home, Quinn and Kenna, please go into Kenna's room and please figure out a way to make this right. Work together. Make it happen."

I was really angry. I could not speak.

 

I was angry that my car was written on. I was angry that my children are so comfortable with the phrase, "I hate you," that this is what they chose to say and write to each other ON MY THE ARM REST OF MY CAR.

 

I was angry that in all of our family’s effort to SEE each other and validate each other -- they continue to not see ME. And I was angry that I give all of my life and soul to these little jerks, and they do not appreciate me.

 

And as we walked into the house, I was angry to see breakfast plates on the kitchen table and a sink full of dishes. I went into angry mom mode and started cleaning the kitchen and frantically making a year supply of baby food from a pumpkin I baked the night before.

 

Finally, Quinn came out and said, "We are sorry we wrote on your car. Is there anything we can do to help you?"

 

"Ah, thank you. Yes, I need someone to clean out the car. It is full of toys and trash."

Quinn smiled and walked to the door, and Kenna looked at me with a death glare, stomped her foot, and said, "NO!"

 

Deep Breaths.

 

My words and tone were not perfect, but I tried. I sent both of them back to the room and told Quinn to help Kenna understand what probably needed to happen. And I reminded them to please not make things hard on my when it is there job to make it right.

 

The back and forth to the room went on a few times.

 

And finally, Kenna walked about and said, "Before we clean the car, YOU have to give us lunch."

 

We debated, and I decided. "No, you will clean the car, and there might be a snack waiting for you when you are done."

 

It was a bowl of nuts she claims to hate …. and a banana.

 

About 30 minutes later we gathered in the room again. I whipped up some tears for effect and let them know how badly it hurt my feelings that they would hurt something that belonged to me without considering how it would make we feel. I told them -- in kid language -- I am overworked, undervalued, and overtired, and that things in our home have to change.

 

I told them I am implementing 3 new rules in our house.

 

1)    Please do not complain at me all the live long day. All I hear is complaining. If I want to take you to Chuck E Cheese, you still find a way to hate me for it. Maybe because I did not wash your favorite socks before it was time to leave -- I am done hearing the complaining. If you complain, I will point to your room. At that time, you must walk away from me. Go to your room and find a nicer way to talk to me about your concern.

2)    If you are served food in this house, you will eat it without complaining. If you complain, I will take the food away, and you will not eat. The end.

3)    When you eat in this house, you do dishes. No one leaves the kitchen until all the dishes are done.

4)    I would like you two to come up with your own 4th rule that you think will make my life easy, your family better, and give me more time for loving and cuddling.

 

I explained, I do not have to do the things I do. My job is to love, care, and cuddle, and I don't have time for that when I am doing everything for everyone. We talked about what has to get done in a house. Quinn started to cry that she will have to do dishes. I asked Quinn, "Why is it my job to do the dishes?" She said, "Because you get most of them dirty when you make the food."

 

Deep breath, mom, deep breath.

 

"Who do I make the food for?"

 

Silence.

 

"Oh, for us," and then it made her laugh at the idea that she used to think this was only my job.

 

And finally -- as tears welled up in Kenna's eyes -- I sweetly said, "Now, I would like you to get some beautiful markers and paper and write out these rules so we can put them on the wall."

 

Great Job. Go Team. We can do this.

 

Tim is on his way home with Cheese Fondue for his tired wife, and the children are going to bed early.

 

I would call this a win.

 

Overworked, undervalued, over tired -- and killing it -- this time at least.