FYI: Your American Girl doll does not have soccer practice after school because she is made of plastic. LET'S GOOOOOO!!!!!
When I go to that place, it's called morning, in my head to summon the ideas to write this post, my temples begin to throb, my jaws clench, and my heart races. If there was ever a time a film director needed to get his actress to act angry he should simply say, "Imagine you are trying to get your children out the door." BLAMO! She could pretend pissed on demand.
Wednesday I felt sick. I told the kids, "I am sick. I can't talk." They hugged me and did the "oh sorry mom" and then went about the business of ignoring me and the morning routine. After repeating myself twelve thousand times I finally stopped. I stood in the hallway and threw a terrific temper tantrum.
It felt so good. I let the water works fly, I sobbed, I moaned. I mean I came totally unglued. I put myself in the bathroom for a time out and tried to get it together. When I came out everyone was ready for school.
I thought all day about how it had happened. The self-reflection lead me to this conclusion: I'm beating myself up for nothing. I'm human, it's OK. Humans fall apart. Humans have bad days. It happens. There is no such thing as a "mother of the year" award. 98% of the time I am trying my hardest in every hat that I wear.
When my children came home, I talked with them about it. I apologized for my temper tantrum, I explained I needed more effort from them in the morning, and I gave them a new system to stay on track. I think this one will be easier to stick with and create a happier morning for us all.
I write to tell you all: it is OK, you are doing a good job.
Story of my life.
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