When schools were closed for President’s Day, I decided to take the day off so we could make it into a long weekend with my kid. We toyed with the idea of a short road trip but decided to stay local and have some low-key fun at home together.
The weekend was a blast – we went to the movies and watched movies at home, we walked the dog every day, we played board games (So. Many. Board. Games.), we read books, we went to church (third week in a row… woo hoo!), we went out to eat, and we cooked together. We even snuck in some productive things like laundry - just lots of little things that added up to a nice weekend.
Then, Monday came.
I woke up with all sorts of energy and was ready for us to have another fun day… but first, I wanted Diana to do a few quick necessary things: practice her piano and guitar and count out the final amount of Girl Scout cookies we needed to make our final deliveries. I asked at 8:30am and planned that they would be knocked out by the time I wanted to head to boot camp at 9:30am.
No such luck – but no big deal, we would pick back up when we got back, knock them out really quickly and then, get on with the fun plans for the day. I left Diana to start her piano practice and hopped in the shower, but when I finished up and settled into my favorite chair in the living room, instead of reporting that she was finished, she showed me the drawing she made of herself.
Big sigh, but I tried not to let it show that I was frustrated. She asked if she could sit on my lap and tell me about her drawing – and I said she could as long as she would get up and get those three little things done right afterwards. She snuggled on my lap under the weighted blanket she gave me for Christmas, and took great care in explaining every detail of her drawing.
When that was done, I asked her to go ahead and start her piano practice – but she asked if she could snuggle for a few more minutes. Always a sucker for a snuggle, I agreed. Then, I felt her breath slow down as I rocked her, and my 9-year-old, not so little girl fell asleep, just like she used to as a baby. For a long time, I just kept rocking her, and used the time to pray and meditate – feeling grateful that I get the opportunity to be her mom and praying for guidance on how to be the best mom I can be for her. I even dozed off for a few minutes myself. It was lovely.
After she woke up, I asked her if she would go play her piano now, but she complained that she was hungry for lunch. Big sigh (and this time, I didn’t try as hard to hide that I was frustrated, despite the fact that I had just prayed and meditated).
Finally, after we ate lunch, she agreed to count the Girl Scout cookies we needed for our last deliveries. It wasn’t piano practice – but it was progress towards getting those three little things done. Afterwards, she begrudgingly practiced piano, which left one last thing to do before we could go do something fun!
I tuned her guitar for her and then, went to fold another load of laundry while she started to slowly gather everything she needed: music, guitar, pick, and metronome. I heard her start the metronome and adjust the speed – and then, that was it.
I folded a few more pieces of laundry, but still all I heard was the metronome, clicking, clicking, clicking away in the living room.
A few more pieces later, I checked my watch to see how long this had been going on.
Click.
Click.
Click.
CLICK.
The sound started to set my teeth on edge with every beat, and finally after 3 more minutes, I came out of the laundry room at the very end of my rope. All of the gratitude, patience and warm feelings I felt from our snuggle time in the chair was gone. There was no thought of pausing and trying to find the right words. I had reaching my breaking point.
I just yelled.
Loudly.
A lot.
Understandably, she cried – which broke my heart, also understandably – but in the moment, the very best I could muster was to send her to her room for a time out and send me to my chair for a time out of my own.
Defeated and ashamed of my outburst, I sank into the chair and put my head in my hands. I don’t want to be a mom that yells. I don’t want to make my kid cry. I wanted us to have fun that day. I took the day off precisely so we could spend the day together, and now, here we were, with both of us in tears.
I had a sudden thought that I could not sit with this feeling by myself – so, I picked up the phone and texted three friends with an S.O.S. All three responded quickly – they let me vent, they gave me compassion and grace, they related similar experiences, they offered advice (after asking me if I wanted it), and then, slowly, they helped me think of a way to apologize to Diana and try to reset our day.
Then, I just sat in the silence and prayed for forgiveness and grace, trying to get my emotions back on track.
A few minutes later, Diana emerged from her room and approached me in my chair. God bless her brave little open heart. I opened my arms and pulled her onto my lap. Then, we rocked, with her head on my shoulder, and we apologized to each other. As we rocked, we talked about what we could do to reset and do better for the rest of the night. We agreed that we are on the same team and that we would both do our best to work together.
After a few more quiet moments of rocking, I asked if she was ready to practice the guitar and held my breath waiting for her to answer. She sighed and reluctantly went over to get started. After she started strumming, I got up from my chair to go finish folding the laundry. I stopped and kissed her on the top of the head on my way past, and she smiled up at me.
In the weeks since, things have been much better. We have both held up our end of the bargain we made, and while I will never claim to be a perfect mom, I know that I am going to keep trying to be the best one I can. I love being on her team.
Parenting