Annie called me a “mean mommy” yesterday.
I was fighting to get the girls to take a nap. I had gone in their room several times and reminded them that cribs are for napping, not playing, etc. The last time I went in, I told them in a rather harsh tone to go to sleep, then I left. I stood outside their door, waiting for them to start jumping in their cribs again. Instead, I heard Annie say, not once but twice, “mean mommy” and then she went to sleep.
It broke my heart.
Sure, Megan and Drew have told me on numerous occasions that they hate me. Even Izzie walks around saying that she hates me. But she also hates the doors and walls, so I know she isn’t aware of what she is saying (and yes, Meg and Drew know perfectly well what they’re saying). But to hear my Annie say that I’m a mean mommy struck a nerve. If you follow me on Twitter, you know that being home with the kids lately has been torture. I only touched upon their behavior in my last post. Monday I locked myself in the bathroom and sobbed because I was so angry I was afraid I was going to hurt someone. That is not the kind of mom I want to be.
Sometimes being a parent sucks. My kids don’t want rules, even though they need them. I need them to need them. Unfortunately for my kids, I am not a calm, quiet mom. I yell. A lot. It obviously doesn’t work to change things, but it’s all I know. (I also know that being at home for 12 hours a day five days a week with almost no break is slowly killing me, but that’s for another post). I just wish my kids would see past the “mean mommy” and understand I’m doing my best. Of course that little nugget of insight won’t hit them until they’re in their 20s or so.
I just want to be a good mom. Most days I do not feel like a good mom, or even an adequate mom. I think my exact words to Doug have been “a trained monkey could do a better job”. I’m trying to do better. I want to do better. They deserve better.