Parenthood: The Most Amazing, Wonderful, Rewarding, Frustrating, Pain-in-the-Ass Job that Sucks.

When my kids were little (let's say birth to school-age), I said that I was going to write a book about motherhood and parenting.  Not another one of the mushy, emotional, I-adore-my-angels-who-never-do-anything-to-upset-me-and-I-handle-every-situation-with-grace-and-patience-and-I-am-a-big-fat-liar kinds of books.  I was going to write about the real deal.  I wanted to tell the truth.  Because it really bothered me that we parents--moms especially--have this thing where we feel like we have to lie and say that we completely love being parents and it's the most magical and amazing role that we cherish every second of every day and never get tired from the sleepless nights or the constant repeating or sassing or messes or peeing with an audience or reading the same story seventeen times a day ... because if we ever even slightly hint at any of those kinds of things, that clearly means that we are horrible people.  Horrible, Terrible, Awful People.

But that's not true.  It's OK to admit that sometimes--maybe even a lot of times--parenting sucks.  Is being a mom / dad rewarding? Yes.  Are there joyful times? Yes.  Are our kids wonderful? Usually.  Do we love our children? Absolutely.  Would we go back in time and change our decision to have kids? No. Maybe. Wait, no. Probably not.  I mean, on the good days, for sure not.  Definitely not--especially when they're sleeping and look so angelic. 

Here's the thing:  We're just human. That means we get annoyed, frustrated, exasperated, mad, and tired.  Sometimes--no matter how many books, articles and blogs we read about parenting and doing all the right things to raise the most perfect freaking kid in the world--we will make mistakes.  We yell.  We lose our cool.  We scold.  We say things we shouldn't.  We don't say all the things we should. 

We are human, just like all the other parents out there.  Even the ones who look like they're doing all the right things all the flip-flopping time.  Newsflash:  they aren't perfect parents.  They're just better at hiding their mistakes or they lie more than you and I do.

We need to forgive ourselves and move on.  Plan to do better next time.  Apologize when we know we are wrong about something and get ready for the next mistake.  You and I both know that our next stellar parenting moment is just around the corner.

Take the good with the bad.  Enjoy the happy times and good moments--when your kids share, tell you they love you, help a friend or sibling, put away their toys without having to be told, flush and wash hands after using the bathroom, cuddle with the pet.  Take those all in and bask in your parenting glory ... it won't be long before there will be sighing, whining, eye rolling, negotiations, tantrums and crying to remind you that parenting is the most amazing, wonderful, rewarding, frustrating, pain-in-the-ass job that sucks. 

And that is going to be the title of my book some day.

What will our future hold?

Tonight we have our appointment with the pediatric psychologist. I'm nervous and excited ... hopeful, but afraid to be. We've had some really great days with Aus lately. He's been listening to Tim and me and he's going out of his way to be kind and thoughtful (running up to Maya's room to get something for her, making sure the cats have plenty of water and food, choosing the small gardening gloves because Maya wanted the big ones ... this list could be longer and more significant, but this will do).

Five days of good behavior were about all Austin could muster, though, and some of his pent up behaviors had to be unleashed ...

Austin was not allowed to ride the bus yesterday, because on the way home Tuesday, he punched Maya--in the face (for not scooting over in the seat so he could sit there too .... his reason: it was his "favorite place to sit and she was not sharing"). This was not the first problem he's had on the bus--far from it. The bus driver has had to talk to him many times about being mean to Maya (he isn't mean to anyone else, just Maya), and this was the last straw. So, deservedly so, he had a one day suspension (honestly, I expected at least 3 days, but the bus driver didn't want to inconvenience me too much ... nice of her, but I told her not to worry about that, I'd just be sure to convey that inconvenience to Austin). He is grounded from all electronics (TV, computer, GameCube and his Leapster) for five days and is not allowed to sit in the same seat as Maya on the bus for the rest of the year--even if she's in his "favorite" seat.

After school Tuesday, while I was at a PTA meeting, the kids were with the Latchkey group. It was a gorgeous day, so they were all outside on the playground. After about 45 minutes, the Latchkey coordinator brought Austin to me, saying that he had to be removed from the group because he and two other boys were covering a first-grader in mulch. (This offense is less troublesome to me than him hitting or hurting someone ... but, I still had the pleasure of having someone point out that my son is causing problems.) I thought for sure I would have to leave the meeting early--figuring that Austin wouldn't be able to sit quietly until it was over. But, since the meeting was in the library, I was able to sit him over next to the books. He sat completely quiet--and still--for the rest of the meeting (another 45 minutes) reading. I couldn't believe it. My constantly moving, noisy boy (usually he's making sounds for the imaginative play he's got going on in his head--spaceships flying, cars zooming, things crashing, etc.) was absolutely quiet and engrossed in books. He often sits still and quiet for long periods of time--if he's in front of something electronic ... but not usually that long for reading.

Except for working on writing homework last night, Austin had a really good day yesterday. He cleaned his room--completely. (Usually when I tell him he needs to clean up his room, he spends about 5 minutes and comes back to tell me he's done ... and he's not. I have to go up and give him specific instructions, step by step, for finishing the job.) He spent about 20 minutes putting together the game Mouse Trap--following the directions and doing it all by himself. He was good during dinner (I know that it helped that we had a "picnic" in the family room--he didn't have to stay in his seat and had some freedom to move around) and got ready for bed with no problems at all.

These good days really help keep me sane ... they give me hope and reassure me that we will have bright spots. Hopefully they'll be more and more frequent after our appointment tonight.

I want to make the right choice.

I am spent.

Tim and I have an appointment with a pediatric psychologist in 2 weeks to discuss Austin's behavior (and determine if he has A.D.D.) and whether or not he would benefit from taking medication. The questionnaires that I've filled out regarding all this seem to scream at me that he's a classic case for A.D.D. In all honesty, I've known for a few years in my heart that he's got it, but just haven't wanted to completely give in to it. [This whole topic of medicating for A.D.D. is such a hot one ... everyone has an opinion on it. We have generally not been interested in medicating him for this. We would rather try behavior modification strategies (that have mostly been working up until school started this year) ... but now we've reached a new point in all of this, so we're seriously re-thinking it all. It's a constant source of stress and doubt. We want to make the best decision for Austin ... I really don't want to mess this up.]

At this point, I'm quite tired.

I'm tired of blaming myself. I'm tired of feeling like I must not be doing enough as a parent to have avoided or fixed this. I'm exhausted from the constant work I do with him to redirect his behavior and guide him to making good choices--to no avail. I'm worn out from feeling like a failure. I'm tired of feeling embarrassed by his behavior when we're out somewhere. I'm tired of the dirty looks I get from other people ... like I'm a moron of a parent who does nothing to keep her child in line. I'm tired of seeing the sad look on my son's face when he talks about being frustrated in school because his teacher is always yelling at him ... and he doesn't know why or what he's done wrong most of the time. I'm tired of seeing other kids look at him like he's an idiot when he's running around, making squeaking sounds and invading their space during soccer practice--while he's entirely oblivious to that fact. I'm completely heartbroken when Austin cries because he doesn't have any friends--he used to, but they don't want to play with him anymore (because he does things that are annoying to the people around him). I'm so sad when I hear him plead with me to not have to go to school ... especially when I know that he loved school and his teacher last year.

I'm tired from all of this. I'm worn out. I'm exhausted. But more than any of that, I'm just sad. Sad that my son feels so isolated and alone. Sad that my little boy--who can be the sweetest and most dear little boy--has had his spirit crushed by his teacher this year, for behaviors that seem to be honestly out of his control. Sad that I can't fix this for him ... or seem to show him how to fix it himself.

So many of my days are a roller coaster of emotions. I'm frustrated with him, annoyed by his out-of-control behavior, challenged to stay patient and calm, angered by what seems to be his defiance of what I tell him to do. I'm also enamored by his loving heart, amazed at his creative thinking, intrigued by his view and perspectives on everyday events, amused by his sense of humor and laugh, touched by his sensitivity, thoughtfulness and caring nature, impressed by his intelligence. Some days--when things have been particularly difficult--after I've tucked him in, I feel absolutely guilty. Guilty for getting frustrated, annoyed, angry. Guilty for not being able to do more to help him. Guilty for not knowing what to do.

I hope I'll get some insight when we meet with this doctor ...

knowing your kids ...

This week I earned another "Mother of the Year" ribbon. I have many in my collection.

It seems no matter how hard I try sometimes, nor how good my intentions may be, I do very stupid things as a mom. Some days I wonder how I can know my children so well, yet be so oblivious as to how I should take care of them. Am I trying to ruin them or scar them for life??

On Sunday, the kids played outside all afternoon. I had started a little fire in the backyard and the kids roasted marshmallows. They jumped and jumped on the trampoline. Everything seemed fine. Once we came in the house, though, things changed. Austin came down with what seemed to be a flu bug. He was miserable--headache, tired, achy, feverish with a sore throat. I took him up to his room and got him into some warm, comfy pajamas while he was limply lying on his bed, shivering like a maniac--teeth chattering and all. I gave him some ibuprofen and offered him a fudgesicle to help the sore throat. He only ate half of it and wanted to lie down. I tucked him into bed with me in the guest room so I could keep watch over him.

Tim took care of Maya that night so I could tend to my poor, sick little guy. It's terrible for me to say, but I sometimes like it when my son is feeling ill. While I enjoy his usual energy and silliness most of the time, there are days that I just wish he would slow down a bit ... take a chill pill ... relax. That happens when he's sick. He transforms into an incredibly docile, sweet and loving child. It's a nice change for me. For a little while.

So, Austin was not well enough to go to school on Monday or Tuesday. By Tuesday evening though, things were getting better. I figured the bug was about done. He was chipper, jumping around, goofing with Maya, playing like he felt pretty darn good. I knew I'd send him to school on Wednesday. Yeah! Well, Austin came out of his room about an hour or so after I tucked him in (Tuesday night), saying that his ear was really, really hurting. Crap! More ibuprofen and a heating pad, but he was still pretty uncomfortable. Poor guy. Once the ibuprofen kicked in, though, he seemed o.k. and slept fine the entire night. Super! I'll send him to school with medicine in his system and call the pediatrician for an appointment once the office opens. Good plan, right? Not by Austin's figuring. He didn't think he should go to school. He said he still felt "yucky" and his ear was hurting. I figured he was just wanting to stay home and lay around for another day, so I made him go to school. I told him the plan that I'd call the doctor and come get him from school for the appointment. He still resisted going, but I insisted he'd be fine.

The doctor's office had an open slot for us at 3:00. That was a little later than I was hoping for ... at that point, Austin would have practically been in school all day. Oh well! If he felt "yucky" and needed to come home, he'd go to the nurse, right? Wrong. I forgot something really important. Austin handles pain and illness like his dad. He doesn't tell me about not feeling well until he's really, really sick. (He was out jumping on the trampoline, running around and roasting marshmallows all the way up to the point he was ready to collapse with exhaustion and discomfort as he came down with all of this.) Well, by the time I picked him up and we went to the doctor's office, he was nearly in tears his ear hurt so much, and he was back to being achy and tired. He whimpered and cried through the appointment and while we waited in the pharmacy for the prescriptions. My poor little guy was miserable again ... and then he said it--what I was feeling so guilty about at that moment: "I think I wouldn't feel so bad if I could have stayed home and rested one more day."

I almost heard the flourish of trumpets as I received my latest "Mother of the Year" award--practically handed to me by my weeping, sick son. I am a parenting genius!