Reaching the Limit

I have mothering models -women I look to and try to emulate as I mother my own little gosling.  One of those women is Sister Marjorie Pay Hinckley.  Her mothering methods have always been so admirable.  I read once that she made a point of never telling her children “no” when she might tell them “yes.”  I’ve tried to keep up with that, but I know I’m nowhere near as great a mother as she.

My children, as I’ve mentioned before, are going through some tough stages -as individuals and as a couple.  Ha.  It seems more than hilarious to type that.  “As a couple.”  Ha ha.  I won’t bore you with whining about it all, but I will tell you that I’m struggling.  I find the word “no” escaping my lips more and more everyday.

I usually let my kids “help” with anything they want to help with.  It’s important to me -not because I hope they’ll grow into teenagers who ADORE helping their mother (dream on) but because I want to build our relationship.  Anyway, how do you turn down “help” when it comes to you with two matching aprons in her chubby little hand and says things like, “I could be like just you and do da dishes!”

Side note: I love the way she switches “just like” to “like just” and I never correct her.  In fact, I switch it when I talk so she won’t know there’s a “right” way.  Does that make me evil?

I also love being touched.  I’ve been known to pay my children to scratch my back, play with my hair, rub my feet… I’m a kitten in a mom body.

But last night, I reached my limit.  In a way, it’s good. I actually didn’t know I had a limit, but I guess all kittens do -especially as it concerns toddlers.  After their constant fighting, their “help” with the dishes (which consisted of me re-washing 1/3 of all the dishes), and asking them repeatedly to PLEASE help me pick up their stuff or it was going in the garbage… I collapsed into a seated position on the floor in front of my computer, turned on netflix, and tried to escape into a movie -any movie at all.  As it started, the kids started playing with a loud noise-making toy.

“No,” I said, taking it away and putting it in the toy box.  Lacy pulled up a small chair next to me and began pushing her legs up against mine.

“No, no,” I said, inching away.  Trent crawled onto my back.

“No,” I said, literally prying him off.  Once off, he tried pulling at some cords connected to the computer.

“No!” I said, pulling him away.

Then I started the movie over because I had missed all of it up to that point.  This continued throughout the movie, and I became aware of just how much I was saying “no.”  The kids continued to clobber me, and I continued to beg them to stop.  Stop touching mommy.  Just for a minute.  They seemed disinterested in the kitten’s wants.  In fact, they were more interested in letting me know what THEY wanted.

“Mom!  Mom!  Mom!”

“Mommmmm!”

Finally, when my movie was over I did something bad motherish.  I flipped on a default movie -one that was sure to captivate them completely.  While they stared at the screen, I retreated to the couch and simply stared off into space and breathed.  I realized I needed a break.  Bedtime was coming up -I felt bedtime would suffice as a break.

I thought wrong.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a mother, as soon as she has retired the crib, will end up with a toddler in her bed every single night of her life.  If not one, then two.

And so I woke up irritated, having not gotten a break of any sort. I hate feeling this way -it isn’t as if I’m getting some sort of satisfaction out of feeling this way.  It isn’t like me at all!  I maintain that I need a break.  I maintain it.  I don’t usually ask for or need breaks very often because I like being smothered and touched and needed.  But surprise!  I have a limit.

I think that’s fairly normal.  I bet even Sister Hinckley had a limit.  I woke up this morning and decided to pray about it.  I got down on my knees and pled my case to my Father in Heaven.

“Please help me to find joy in my children today.  I need some space, but I can’t have any right now.  Help me to be more patient and happy…”

At this point, my son crawled on top of me and started bludgeoning my head.

“… See?” I said, and then ended my prayer before my head got beat off.

I then logged onto Mormon Messages for my morning devotional and watched this:

It lifted me up enough to face the morning. I’ll worry about lunchtime when it gets here.