I'll Do Better Tomorrow

All day long, I've taken deep breaths, spoken nicely, explained dutifully, corrected kindly and been the kind of mother I so want to be.

I've washed hands, faces and fannies.  I've read books, kissed booboos and played with Barbies.

I've lovingly made nutritious lunches and snacks that have earned academy award winning bouts of whining, pouting and crying.   Most of these creations, bananas made into smiley faces or pancakes with Mickey mouse ears are refused and uneaten altogether.   The required explanations of you need to eat so that your bones will grow strong and straight or so that you can grown to be big and strong fall on deaf little ears.

I've helped write and read lots of tiny, silly words and hovered while you've completed your homework...working hard not to become frustrated or to let my perfectionism get in the way.   I've encouraged and patted backs.

I've bathed sticky, slippery little bodies trying to ignore the screaming and crying because you're not ready to get out of the tub...even though I'm fairly certain my eardrums are now busted due to the sheer pitch of your screams echoing in the tile bathroom.

I've allowed independent little people to brush their own teeth and comb their own hair, even though I could have done it lots faster.  I've read story books, given kisses and said prayers and then sighed a deep breath as I closed your bedroom door silently thanking God for allowing me to "keep it together" all day long.

I'm anxiously trying to cram in a much-needed workout, washing dishes, packing lunches and book bags calculating how long I'll actually have to read a book, watch a television show or have an uninterrupted conversation with my husband when it starts.

Asking for water.

Needing to use the bathroom.

Blankets fall off and only mommy can put it back on.

Someone is crying.

Calling my name, many, many, many times.

I answer sweetly (sometimes at this point through clenched teeth) "I'm coming sweetie. Wait a minute... shhhhh you'll wake up the baby!"  I wipe the sweat off my forehead, scrub furiously at the pan I'm washing...trying to quickly finish the dishes all the while silently hoping they'll eventually give it up and go bed.  Then the guilt kicks in...

They won't need you or want you to rock them to sleep for too much longer.

They're growing up so fast.

They're only little once.

Will tonight be the last night they need mommy to fix their blanket?

Good mommies love to do nothing but kiss and rock their sweet cherub children.  What kind of mother are you?

I end up sitting on the bed rocking and shushing one little one, while patting the back of a bigger one.  Silently thinking about all that's waiting for me outside of their room... calculating once again how much time I might have before MY bedtime to work out AND still find time to watch that show that's been on hold for two...months...

Breaths are deep.  Bodies are still.  I cover up little feet and hands and tiptoe out of the room.  I rush to the living room to finish up those nightly routines... still desperately hoping I can get a few minutes to myself... Only moments later to hear pitter-pattering feet in the hall just as I'm trying to motivate myself to crank out just a few more burpees.

I then switch to annoyed mode, my patience by this point is ever so thin.  I speak now speak sternly, "Go to bed or I'm going to have to spank you.  Do not get out of bed again.  Please stop shouting or you will wake up the baby."

Then the fifteenth time I'm ushering some little person back to their bed and sternly reminding them it's bedtime... the mean, impatient, grouchy mommy rears it's ugly head.  "If you get out of bed one more time," she hisses,"I'm getting the spoon.! You're making me maaaaaad!  GO TO BED!!!!"  Then there are little people's tears and more mean mommy threats and finally after a bit all is quiet and calm.

When I go in the room to check on them, they're both so peacefully sleeping, it's hard to imagine how annoyed that had me moments earlier... and I think to myself... you let the last five minutes of the day ruin it again.  I beat myself up... because now this is surely how they're going to remember me for the rest of their lives.  The whole day seems ruined... in the last five minutes.

I tuck my sweet girls in and brush the fine baby hairs off their little foreheads, kiss their cherub cheeks and silently whisper... "Mommy's sorry.  I'll do better tomorrow."