Now, I think it's only fair to my kids to acknowledge that I'm fully aware that I've never been what you would call a laid-back parent. The self-diagnosed OCD often has the upper hand in any and all parenting. I'm not the mom who lets her kids pull out the paints, markers, play-doh, scissors, glue, or other mess-making paraphernalia unless extremely closely supervised. I typically don't let them run around out-of-doors, particularly if there's a chance that snow, mud, sand, or other children will end up coming back indoors with them. It's even difficult for me to let them step out of the house without their hair done and their clothes clean (and matching). I cringe inwardly (sometimes outwardly) when my children aren't as polite, respectful, quiet or well-behaved as I believe they should be in any given situation. So, needless to say, much of the stress of being a mom is probably self inflicted.
This morning I decided that the Lord sent Lindy into our home as a contradiction to all of the above-mentioned reasons. (To be fair, I should say that I will probably feel the same way about Ellie given time.) In spite of the instruction, lectures, threats, and begging I still seem to find drawings on my walls, furniture, and TV. I mysteriously find nail polish on my bathroom counter, floor, and toilet. I still endure screaming, hitting, and crying fits in response to even the simplest request (i.e. can you please clean up that wrapper you just threw on the floor?) And...I consistently find myself saying things I swore I'd never say. "Just you wait until your father gets home", "Because I said so", and "Would you like me to give you something to cry about?"
This just means that at the end of each and every day I sit back and try to determine where I went wrong. I try to pinpoint the exact moment of departure from the well-constructed plan I had laid out for the day. I then determine the "new plan" for tomorrow...which ends up chuck-full of new methods and tricks. I vow to be more patient. I tell myself that I'll be more loving and understanding. I promise to pay more attention to the kids and less attention to whatever personal treats I've had in store for myself. Some days my plan is to have no plan at all. So far...nothing works. Each evening produces the same results: a frazzled, irritated, and confused mom and two misunderstood, dramatic, and often crying girls.
I was once told that being a parent would be one of my most challenging responsibilities. Well, here we are. Challenged.
