"There was once a boy named Pierre, who only would say,"I don't care!"
Read his story, my friend, for you'll find at the end, that a suitable moral lies there." ~M. Sendak
Mommy lost her shit yesterday. I feel like it was inevitable, with how much stress I have been under, and how little release I have been finding time for. And of course, since Monkey has the shortcut menu to my hot buttons, she was the one to set me off. Just five little words that apparently blow my temper like an atom bomb. “You don’t care about me.”
Oh, my darling, how wrong you are.
I realize mothering is the most thankless of jobs. The day to day minutiae that actually makes a household run is something always expected, but never appreciated. I have yet to have one of my children thank me for the hours spent making them complete their homework, or hounding them about project deadlines, or telling them to turn off the video games, and go outside. The most feedback I get about dinner, and breakfast, and lunch is how horrible it is, and that they refuse to eat it. And I know the last thing they’re thinking about while they’re off doing their thing at dance, or sports practice, or a game, is what Mommy is thinking about on the bench while she’s waiting for them. About how she skipped dinner to make sure they were fed, or is cold because their sibling insisted they didn’t need a coat so she gave them her own, or how she wished she could be off doing the million other errands that need to be done, but she doesn’t have time for. Because she is with them, always. In mind, in thought, in action.
Most times I can take a step back from my anger and remind myself that they are blessed that they are truly unaware of what it is to experience someone not caring about them. That their hurt feelings and animosity are temporary and fleeting, unlike the scars some children carry from the burden of being neglected or alone. But every once in awhile, they witness the human side of me. The side that is just as hurt and resentful as they are about how unfair I feel I’m being treated. And as guilty as I feel about it now, as horrible and childish I myself acted, in a way I’m glad they saw me as raw as I was. I hope they remember that was Mommy caring so much about you that she was crying.
