I had just transformed into Scary Mommy for the second time today, with a fierce eye and ugly, elevated tone sending our seven year old to bed - mid dinner.
I sat there, looking at this sweet, able, learning body in front of me... embarrassed and aware that I had immediately made a mistake.
In my defense, it started as early as 6:30 this morning, when the boys started opening and closing... and opening and closing and of course, opening and closing (I counted 8... each) the bathroom door.
Let's be real. NO ONE has to go to the bathroom that many times before 7am.
Do they know it was like nails on a chalkboard seeping under the door and into our room?
I let that slide, but stormed in breathless when I heard the two physically arguing, instead of getting dressed for school.
Let me correct that: one arguing and being physical. The other, in the highest pitch and longest notes (I mean, they go on for days.....) whining "Stoooooooooooop Iiiiiiiiiiiiiittt" and returning the shoves.
We somehow made it to breakfast and per usual, I've overestimated what I can actually accomplish in the 30 minutes for breakfast, lunch, backpacks, shoes and saying more than three times "Are you buckled? Are you buckled?" after loading into Big Time (our tank of a car). While frantically scrambling to create balance on their plates and simultaneously (near Houdini-like) preparing a hearty lunch for two boys, this is breakfast conversation:
"I HATE Tunafish."
"Oh, honey. You told me you wanted to try it, so I got some at the store this weekend for you."
"Well, I hate it."
"These strawberries are rotten."
"That's impossible. I just got them."
"They are disgusting."
Me to myself, "Well, you little brat," (that's actually not the word I used in my head), "Don't eat them!"
I ignored the other complaints and nuances and powered through.
And then it came time for shoes...
Oh the shoes. WTF is it so hard?
It's not rocket science. I help with the tying.
All you have to do is get them on.
The wrestling started and I think my face started to melt at the same time.
"I'm in the car." I belted, hoping to instill sheer panic.
The wrestling continued.
Surprise. They didn't even hear me.
I became the cyclone Mommy. That lady that moves so fast that literally creates a wave of wind behind her. That person I hate, but she cannot be contained.
I whip around the corner.
I say, "Car. Now."
It wasn't strategic. It's just all I could muster in my anger.
We rode in silence.
And me with regret.
They saw her again. That Scary Mommy that is not full of the kindness I hope to bestow in my children. The tyrant that is out of control and means business that overshadows the love I feel for these small, learning people.
I live with the guilt the rest of the day and pray I can turn it around after school.
What an awful way to leave your safe place and greet the rest of the tough, hard world.
Fast forward to dinner, where green beans are flying, shin kicks are muffled and no one under 40 has heard of a fork, napkin, please, thank you or eating over their plate. After physically picking apart every single item on his plate and wiping those greasy fingers on the bench cushion and t-shirt amidst infinite warnings...
She reared her evil head again.
And there I sat, sitting alone with Shaw, while he stared at me not knowing to fear the women in front of him or to celebrate that he had her all to himself and had survived the battle.
I couldn't say much.
I was already thinking how I should apologize...
Could I rectify this situation?
Wondering what damage I had done....
Does it REALLY matter? He is seven!
All the second guessing.
And Shaw out of the blue says, "Mommy, I was born to be kind. What were you born to do?"
(Insert very sad emoji)
I will try again tomorrow.