The morning was filled with fun activities like water balloon bursting and running through sprinklers and painting outside on tacked up paper on the fence.
It was also filled with dealing with my challenging four year old son. With his quick no's to my requests, his laughing in my face when I raised my voice, treating his little brother badly. Outright disrespect that just about drives me to the point of feeling like I'm going to lose my mind. If I haven't already lost it.
After a barely touched lunch, I began to clean up the kitchen. The boys scampered up the stairs and I could hear them in one of the bedrooms chattering, playing, probably jumping on the beds as I put the dishes away.
Out of nowhere the overwhelming feeling of not knowing what the hell I'm doing as a Mother - let alone one that is with her children 24/7 - seized it's dark hand around my soul and tears coursed unending down my face.
Who the hell claimed me qualified enough to do the most enormous job on earth?
No one, that's who.
The thought made my mind and body exhausted. Does any parent know what the hell they're doing? Anyone?
I don't know - it seems there are parents that can handle their kids far better than I - and though some days I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job at this Motherhood gig...there are just as many that make me think I'm wandering this world of Motherhood alone. Anxiety then hits me like a brick wall and I second guess everything I say and do.
Did my yelling out of sheer frustration scar him for life? Should I play with him more? I know I shouldn't let him watch so much Scooby Doo. Do I play with them too much hindering their need for independent play? Do I do too much for them? Not enough? They probably eat too many cookies. At least their homemade. Am I too strict about things that don't really matter? Too lenient about matters that should be important? Should they go to bed earlier? I shouldn't tell him so much that he's driving me bananas. Though I suppose it's better than telling him his never ending whining is bugging the living shit out of me.
It's this never ending commentary that circles my mind day in and day out.
After finishing tidying the kitchen I trudged tiredly up the stairs to find my sons' on the floor of my bedroom with the bed completely stripped down to the bare mattress and surrounded by what seemed like one hundred dvd's.
The tears began all over again. The mess wasn't a big deal in the grand scheme of the day - but it was enough to put me right over the edge.
"Really guys? Really?! Clean all of those dvd's up right now!"
"No." Always his answer as of late.
That did it.
I picked him up from the pile of chaos, walked across the hall to his room and promptly tossed him on his bed leaving the room and closing the door behind me. I slid down the door as he banged on it, my body wracked with sobs. My little one saw my state from his perch amongst the pile of mess across the hall and quickly crawled over and climbed into my lap, wrapping his sweet little arms around my neck, his cheek resting upon my shoulder.
And though it felt delicious and comforting, it made me cry even harder.