So in the post Halloween haze coupled with time-change mania, my children and I were not on our A-Game. We were neither in sync or in the groove. And well... Mommy had a meltdown.
Now I did not hurl myself on the floor as my two year-old did (though I was tempted) nor did I start yelling the same thing over and over as my six year-old did but I would not have survived the white glove test of parenting today. I have no doubts of that. .
There was no perfection pie here
I did not use my calm voice. I did not rise above the melee. I was full on in the "melee". I was sick of the fights over toys. (Legos for goodness sake. They LITERALLY have thousands. They both need the same tiny red block? Seriously?) And the use of furniture as both weaponry and gym equipment. I was sick of my children screaming demands for pink milk from across the apartment rather than coming to me to ask. I was sick of negotiating the Halloween candy disbursement. I was just plain sick.
So I yelled. I used the scary Mommy voice. And then worst of all, I just started crying. Right in front of my children. Sooooo not pretty. And when my husband came in, I literally told him that I needed to go into the bedroom and be left alone for at least fifteen minutes. I did not want to see or hear my children. I wanted a Mommy time-out.
These are the moments that kill me. I adore my children. I want to be the steady force in their life that helps navigate them through the real craziness in life. I don't want to be the craziness. I want them to remember the moments we played dress up like Mommy and Daddy this morning and not the moment when the parental sanity timer went "ding! time's up" and I took a ride on the looney train. In other words, I don't want my children to have extended therapy sessions about their memories of Mother before she started wearing the very stylish if impractical (especially after Labor Day) white long-sleeved jacket. Very long-sleeved.
So I took a time-out and the day was better but I still wouldn't want any TLC film crews following me. And I won't be writing any Dr. Sears style parenting books. I might call my mom, however. She should get a BIG laugh out of this one.