The Woes of Motherhood

Warning: Incoming Rant

I wake up this morning at 6:15 to Baby saying “Can I go to my friends house?”

I grunt my reply and she scampers off to get dressed and have breakfast. As I groggily make my way to the bathroom, I am met with a mess the size of Kansas overflowing out of her room and into the hallway.

“You’re not going anywhere until that room is clean” I bark.

Now, my son is about 7. He has been cleaning his room since he was roughly 5. He also started doing his laundry, supervised at that age. Now, at 7, he just needs his weekly reminder to start laundry.

My daughter, on the other hand. I tell her to clean her room and she goes in to her room and an hour later I hear her singing, off-key, and loudly, and I go into to see her playing, making even more of a mess. I have tried everything I can think. I have removed her bed so she can’t jump on it. She sleeps on a mattress on the floor. I have removed her toys because she was caught stealing. All that is left in her room is books, and clothes.

I have tried grounding her, taking away her television priviledges, taking away babies. Nothing seems to light a fire underneath her to get what needs to get done, done. She is the unpunishable. The only thing that really seems to work, especially for cleaning, is constant supervision. At which point, I may as well do it myself. It would take less time and then I could use what ever time is left to do a research paper.

This morning, I head into her room to help with her disaster and I see, Every. Single. Hanger had been removed from her closet. Even the ones with clothes. Now all her clean clothes are intermingled with her dirty clothes. Thankfully, she does remember what she wore and when, so its not hard to sort. But I get angry anyway. How can someone destroy her room and expect me to go in there and clean it up for? Is it not enough that I keep the kitchen and the rest of the house clean? That I keep her in clean laundry throughout the week? That I cook the meals for her? I got frsutrated and told her that I wasn’t helping anymore and that I didn’t want to see her until it was clean.

I then headed downstairs. I saw my cat, Boo, standing behind a puddle of liquid.

Re-ow!! She greets me. I get fed up, because the unidentified puddle is in the middle of a dust pile that I had neglected to sweep up.

Are you serious?! I yell at Boo.

Meow?

First, I am upstairs dealing with Baby’s mess, and now I come downstairs only to have to clean YOUR mess?!

By this point Boo is beginning to lose interest and she lets out a low meow from the back of her throat.

Go away! I yell at her. On cue, she turns towards the couch and begins to let out a quiet Boo growl. Not one of anger, but more one of I need to get away from this lunatic.

That’s right! I continue yelling. Go under the couch! And I don’t want to see you anymore!

The thought that I was yelling at my cat never crossed my mind. I didn’t care that my walls are thin and the chances of my neighbours thinking I had lost my mind were high. I was overwhelmed.

I am not the best Mom. I was young, and lack the patience they require. But I try my best. I go to school hoping to give them a life they deserve. I cook, I clean, I do laundry, and though my house is rarely, if ever, spotless, I try to maintain the order. I pay the bills, usually on time. I do, what I think is a lot for my family.

And yet, I am always asked of more. Help me clean my room. Cook some elaborate dinner for me. My laundry needs to be done. Buy more pants for me. I need help with my homework.

Even my husband. He tries to help out. I know this. But he has never been a part of a family unit before. At least, not a functioning, healthy one.  Therfore I have to ask him to take out the garbage, to bring up the laundry, to fold his clothes, to do the dishes. I don’t think I ask for a lot. (Hunny, I know that you will read this, and just remember that I really do love you and everything that you do for me does not go unnoticed. :D)

But here I am. Feeling overwhelmed and worked thin. I’m sure that every other mother in the history of motherhood has also dealt with this feeling. So tell me, what do you do to:
a) prevent this from happening or;
b) deal with it when it does happen?

Students: Do you have a relaxation method that you use when things become too much to handle?

Ps the unidentified liquid from Boo ended up being a toppled over glass of water from the night before. Apparently her water dish isn’t good enough for the Queen of the Cats.

And yes, I did apologize to her.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s