A Daily Resolution

Eleanor told me in the middle of church on Sunday that she knew what my new year's resolution should be. It was not a friendly recommendation. This was right after I had told her for the umpteenth time to sit up like a lady, stop messing around and to leave her sisters alone. "You're always so mean," she spewed, turning away with dramatic emphasis, folding her arms in defiance and scowling in my direction, to which I gave her a look she knows well enough: "I'm going to kill you, but I can't do it right now because we're surrounded by people but just you wait...."

I don't think I'm a mean mother, but I know I'm not the nicest either. I'm not. I've been doing this long enough to know what I'm good at and what I'm not. I'm very good at managing my children's basic needs.

I'm good at getting things done, staying organized, directing and guiding, etc. I always get the lunches made, the permission slips signed, the hair done, I'm never late for pick-up or dance class, I know when nails need to be cut, who's growing our of their jeans, there's always something green on the dinner table, etc. That's something, right? But I'm not high energy, fun or spontaneous, I refuse to pretend play, I am not a natural hugger, cuddler or storyteller, and I'm very impatient early in the morning and late at night, which is too bad, because that's when the kids are around.

Over the last nine years of raising kids, Mark and I have often wondered if we would be better suited to each other's lives, pulling a role switcheroo. He would be a fabulous stay-at-home parent. He remembers cute things the girls said when they were toddlers, he wakes them up in the middle of the night because he doesn't want to eat his cheeseburger or pizza alone, he has meaningful conversations with them, and he seems happiest smothered in their noise and needs. I, on the other hand, like my space. At the end of the day, I usually have to keep myself from covering my ears with my hands and running to a safe, quiet place.

We're a good balance in this regard. I'm relieved that someone in this house will play dollhouse with the girls, listen to them with attention, dance with them in the kitchen, and take out playdoh without dread. Sometimes I just wish it was me. And sometimes it is. Last night I made the girls cookies and milk before bedtime and on Saturday I had four different friends over. I need these small victories as much as the girls them for their own reasons. But it's an effort for me, a constant, daily resolution.

Interesting article