Tuesday, December 01, 2009

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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11 comments:

  1. you are so very not alone!! last Saturday was one of those moments. strangely I was in my zone of attempting to keep them quietly occupied and didn't lose it until some kind person asks if I need any help. THAT'S when my semblance of composure is gone! even if I wasn't pregnant with all those extra hormones I still would've started tearing up with frustration at my apparent inability to cope with 3 headstrong kids. One of which, the 2yo, is so extremely independent and loud about anything that doesn't work out how SHE wants it. ugh!!

    and like you I fully expect to have more moments like this. I keep thinking that if I really learned about and applied better parenting techniques, every body would be happier. I just don't know what these techniques are and which of the hundreds of books out there would actually work for me and my husband and our kids. Love and Logic seemed okay, maybe I should wrap my brain around that one again.

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  2. You are not alone! Instead of sweating I get this horrible pinched up face, angry eyes, and a bite my lips...so very attractive and even painful at times when I actually pierce my lip. And the holidays always seem to make it worse...my frazzled state, my extreme reactions, and my guilt. You are not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.

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  3. HAHA Dawn!! You are so funny. I was there...it wasn't that bad. We weren't at the Ritz-Carlton--it was a family-friendly place and we had an amazing server. :-)

    I chalk it up to holiday fever...lighted trees, little gift store with toys. I bounced out of my seat a couple of times too. :-)

    I know it's easy for me to say, not having any kids of my own, but I can tell you that I didn't see one mom in the place with perfect hair looking relaxed. And..by the comments above, it is clear that you are not alone. :-)

    We have a school fundraiser tomorrow...want to go???

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  4. OH friend. You KNOW how this is me, over and over, and it is so discouraging - once that rush of furious adrenaline wears off. Let's chat on Friday :)

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  5. You are not alone. Why, you painted a picture of ME yesterday. Almost too perfectly.

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  6. OK, we can compare notes after you curse loudly when your kids' horseplay in a restaurant resulted in a table of drinks being spilled on the floor. I wanted to disappear.

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  7. You are not alone.

    And as far as this lady is concerned...
    <
    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.>

    She's on some awesome rx drugs and the frontal lobotomy helps a lot. And just to prove my point, my word verification is:
    womomlit

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  8. Okay, I have all of your email addresses except for Bowie Mike, so I gotta reply to you here--

    Good lord, that sounds like a FANTASTIC experience. :) I sure do wish I could have been in that restaurant! I'm sorry you had that good time, but at least it merits you a killer story!!

    Thanks everybody for your moral support!!

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  9. What are you talking about? Did you see my kids? Or more precisely, my number? I was at that restaurant same time as you guys. I didn't see any smoke rising from your table, no plate crashes or even children sent to the kitchen to wash dishes. You and your husband were smiling when I came over...or was that fake?

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  10. I agree with L and G - it wasn't at all as bad as usual! :) Yes, JAM was his 9/16 year old moody self about something stupid that really shouldn't have caused him as much angst as it did. Yes, Pudge refused to eat and wanted to be held/taken to look at the lights/toys all night. Yes, Red was... well... If I remember correctly, Red was just about perfect.

    Yup, I'm gonna remember that - she was an angel. 1 out of 3 ain't bad at all.

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  11. Nope, you're totally not alone. But hey, think about how it feels to be the mom of a bad kid and you aren't there to do anything about it. THAT'S when you really feel like the worst mom ever. But ... it happens to us all (right?).

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