all shook up

I don't know what it is, but I found myself in a situation last night that was all too familiar: busy public place, with friends, surrounded by lots of other families, my children behaving badly, and me making an appearance as the World's Most Frazzled Mom.

I hate it.

I hate how I sound as I try to corral the kids, mostly unsuccessfully. I hate how the little beads of sweat appear across my forehead and my hair falls into my eyes and I look like a crazed madman, instead of a loving mama. I hate how my children and their whining, their kvetching and their antics appear larger than life compared to the loads of children around us, sitting much quieter among their relaxed-looking parents. I hate how it feels to be frazzled- like a thousand eyes are upon me, and the giant neon sign above my head is flashing "Worst Mom Ever." I hate how I seem to sink deeper once the frazzle kicks in, unable to see anything but the naughtiness du jour.

I wonder what it feels like to be the mom with every hair in place, a relaxed smile on her face, who can quietly and calmly get her children back in line in the rare moment that they actually do something out of order.

Okay, okay, I know that I'm going down an unattractive road. I know that everyone else is dealing with their own stuff, and I know that my children's behavior isn't off the charts for their respective age groups. I know that even thinking this way just helps to fuel the Parenting as Competition fire. I know these things.

But it's still so difficult for me to escape the frazzle. Once it rears it's ugly, messy-haired, sweaty-foreheaded face, I get lost and all I can do is feel frustrated that things are not going as I had hoped they would. The frustration and frazzle debilitate me, and my fear of embarrassment and judgment take over, and all fun is gone.

Outside of the moment, it's easy, so freaking easy, to think of different approaches/responses/techniques that might have turned the tides. And sometimes it's not even that big of a wave that precedes the frazzle, but it comes nonetheless. I can often embrace it, if needed, and turn it on its head with humor-- if I point out that neon flashing sign before you judge it for yourself, then I can own the frazzle, and perhaps get a giggle while I'm at it, too.

I don't know what the point of all this is-- I wasn't going for one of those transformation posts, where I pledge to do things differently next time, because quite honestly, I fully expect to be frazzled in public with my kids at least once more before the week is out. Perhaps there's comfort to be had in knowing that I'm not alone??


Embracing the crazy,



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