I know we've all been there. Mommy guilt takes hold of your gut (and your heart) like no other imaginable bad thing ever.
Am I doing this right? Did I say the wrong thing? Was I yelling too much? Did I not yell enough? Should I just lock them in their rooms until they are 18? Just kidding on that last one. Sort of. No really, I am kidding. Maybe not. I digress...
You all understand my point I'm sure. Mommy guilt is the worst kind of angst. Period. It seeps into your soul and wrestles with your insecurities and then laughs at YOU in your weakest moments. Unless you are one of the emotionless machines that is able to turn off that ping of guilt button at any moments notice. Oh how I envy you.
Mommy guilt is humbling. And it's horrible. And it's gross. Makes a mutha want to raise the white flag, and then climb under the covers to hide.
And, what's worse? In my case. All this guilt inducing horrible gross-ness comes in the package of a sparkly, defiant, outgoing, beautiful seven year old girl. She, IS, the female version of my twelve year old son so one would think...round two? I gotz dis! But I don't. I'm weak and tired and still licking my battle wounds from round one. Which isn't over by the way. That dude still lives with me.
I am fully aware my brand of kid is gregarious, bright-eyed, smart and fun-loving. I know they fib the truth and seek ways to bend the rules. They think out of the box....in fact, they are never in the box. Ever. And I can't lie, I love when I meet a teacher/bystander for the first time and their face lights up at the mention of one my own as they sing the praises of my personable comedian that is such a riot, or my kind-hearted animal lover that seeks good things, or my glittery fashionista that runs the world. But deep down, I'm on a roller coaster and always dancing the two step. Trying my best to keep ahead of the game these three are playing. While I struggle with feelings of failure around every corner.
So when child number three (the before mentioned seven year old) came home yesterday with a behavior chart for messing around in the bathroom for twenty minutes during class time, I knew the honeymoon period of a brand-new school year was officially OVER. It didn't even last a full two weeks. We have stepped into that dicey therapy stage too early methinks. I fear divorce but crossing my fingers this rocky bit will smooth out before the lawyers are called in.
I know what you are thinking right now. Her? you say.
Don't be fooled by her toothless smile and her twinkling eyes. Gurl got this sucka on lock and she knows how to manipulate the system. She's a playa. And, she is the QUEEN of avoidance techniques. She observes her prey from afar, pours on the charm, snuggles up to their sides, strokes their egos and then strikes when they least expect. She is on fire.
She suspiciously went missing from class during writing time. Ding. Ding. Ding. A subject she's not too fond of. She says it's boring and she struggles and she doesn't like it and, well, she would rather be talking. So of course, she sashayed up to the one in charge and asked to use the potty. Her newbie, young, right outta college teacher has no clue what she is up against. And. I'm. Scared.
When I put her on the bus this morning after another rocky start and many tears, I walked back to my house with my tail between my legs. The behavior chart, worries over the right classroom fit, my own untempered emotions, undesired behavior from said seven year old started to fester and bubbled up. My brain tells me this too shall pass. My gut tells me to employ the CTFD method. My heart tells me I am a loving parent. But my overly frazzled, mommy guilt reflex is sucker punching me in the face. Hard!
In hind site, I've stewed and worried when I know she probably had a right fine day at school today and forgot all about our bumps this morning.
And, last night.
And, yesterday afternoon.
And, the morning before.
And, the morning before that.
My right brain has decided we need to put a plan in place pronto. This chick needs to get her act together or I might just go Bill Cosby on her arse. "I brought you into this world, I can take you out!"
I called my friend to vent.
Then I breathed and unfurrow my brow.
And I laugh (after I stressed most of the morning of course...I am only human).
Deep down, what brings me peace of mind, is this. My kid is a genius!! Straight up! Because only a genius could figure out how to get excused to the bathroom and be absent from the classroom for twenty whole minutes, unnoticed, to avoid unfavorable responsibilities.
That my friends, is a genius at work.